Free Fall
by ElizabethSH
Summary: Set post 3x19 - 47seconds. After the bombing, Castle requested to be transferred. It's been 2 weeks. The storms are coming, JBeckett's case reopens, Internal Affairs is looking for her and Castle is nowhere to be found. Beckett doesn't know who to trust anymore. The bodies are dropping and time is running out. Why was Castle taken, is he still alive? From Storm comes Fury.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

Lightning flashed outside the main office room. The desk lamp flickered as the rain beat against the windows abruptly.

Detective Kate Beckett quit writing and walked to the window in the meeting room.

She could barely see the street below, but the trees were dancing in the wind.

A hell of a storm, she thought.

She was startled when her office phone rang.

"Beckett," she answered. "Esposito? I thought you had this important thing that couldn't wait until after the paperworks? She walked back to her office desk while he made himself an excuse.

"I was about to call it a night, what can I do for you?" She looked at the time and took her coat off the chair. "The murder weapon for the Murdock case? Hmm, yeah, hold on, I'll get the ME's preliminary report." She walked to her partner's desk, looked over the papers on his desk and found the ME's file. It was only a few pages thick. "Espo-? Yeah. ME seems really uncertain about it, he writes 'body is covered in bruises and knife wounds, suggesting fatal stabbing or fight.' Actually, no wait, that's not right. I think we're looking at multiple potential murder weapons. Yeah. Okay, knife, baseball bat and … firearm. Why, what have you found?" Beckett heard the tick sound in the phone indicating the second line was on hold. "Esposito, I'll have to call you back."

She listened to the dispatch women, but with the storm outside, she had trouble hearing her clearly.

"I'm sorry Dispatch, say that again?"

Tonight, she just wanted to go home and call it a day. The week had been full of long, long hours, a lot of work and very little sleep. She did not want to take that call.

Unlucky for her, dispatch reported a unit requesting back up over a _possible_ breaking and entering.

"Well, get Robbery over there, this isn-" She told the dispatcher.

However, at the mention of _'a lot of blood_', it gave her a new perspective. This story might be interesting after all.

"Alright, alright. I'll have a look at it. 'Kay, let me just-"

She jammed the telephone handset between her ear and shoulder. She found a pencil and flipped her notepad on a new page. Beckett wrote down a few keywords while the information was fresh.

"Where's this you said? Soho? Wait a sec!" She stopped writing. "That's not even in the precinct's-"

As she heard the address, the pencil fell from her hand and onto the floor.

Interest morphed into commitment and fear overtook her excitement.

O.o.O.o.O

Paramedics transferred the body from one stretcher to the other and ran the wounded men inside the hospital's emergency unit with the medical staff. In trauma, nurses opened two intravenous accesses in both of the man's arms as the doctor on call assessed the patient's physical condition. Replacing the stethoscope on his neck he looked at the late hour on the clock.

"Call the OR; this man needs surgery. Who's the surgeon on call tonight?"

"Dr Davidson, sir."

"Good, wake him up and get him down here"

The monitor's alarm went off. The nurse silenced it. "BP is dropping fast," she said, "blood loss is too massive, tourniquet's not holding"

"Get him two units of O neg. Stat."

"Glasgow 8, sir."

"Damn it, get him up to surgery now. Do we have an ID on this man? Medical history? Known allergy? Get everything we have to surgery. Have we reached the family yet?"

"No sir, we don't know who he is," said a nurse.

"Sir, crossmatch came back, patient is AB positive," mentioned another nurse with the printed file in hand.

"Good. Switch him for two units of AB positive," he told the second nurse. "What d'you mean we don't know who this guy is?"

"He had no ID on him."

"He was shot at home and nobody cared to pick up an ID? That's just great."

Doctor Josh Davidson entered the service, after the patient was sent to OR. He yawned loudly. "What d'we have?" He opened the file placed in his hands.

"John Doe, shot at home, heavy bleeding from a GSW to the right upper arm, he's holding up but BP is low. He's stable for now" said the emergency doctor.

Dr Davidson nodded at the doctor's word. He continued to read.

"Apparently he called the ambulance himself but was unconscious when EMT arrived. We know nothing more," completed the ER doctor.

Dr Davidson had a quick look around. "Where is he now?"

"Upstairs; waiting for you. You okay? Not awake yet? Have a cup of coffee, son." Dr Davidson quickly rubbed his eyes with his hand.

"I'm fine, thanks. Okay," He said after cracking his neck, "Anything else I should know?"

"There's two units of blood ongoing, and we patched him up the best we could but the brachial artery was hit; it's bloody"

O.o.O.o.O

Detectives Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito were already on the crime scene when she stepped into Richard Castle's apartment. When he saw her, Detective Esposito, forbid her to walk in and he invited her back in the hallway, outside the apartment.

"You got here fast" she said.

"You sure you're okay with this?" he asked instead.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Kate Beckett wasn't ready, nor okay with it. Normally, arriving on a crime scene, she would take a few minutes to close her eyes and clear her head. When she attempted to do so while parked in front of the author's and ex-partner's apartment block, she couldn't focus. She was about to investigate a crime scene at Castle's apartment and he was nowhere to be found. Of course, she wasn't thinking straight, but what was she suppose to do? On her way to the crime scene, she tried the author's phone.

No answer.

Same with all Rogers' phones; the mother and the daughter would not pick up either. Her gut instinct told her this was wrong. Very wrong.

"It's been two weeks since the two of you last talked, Beck, don't let it mess with your head," said Esposito.

Two weeks, she thought. Already? Two weeks since Castle's official request to Captain Victoria Gates to be reassigned to another Homicide detective. He needed to cool off, he had said. Their last case, the TakeOver bombing, had him thinking things over. The next morning; he was gone. She did not know how long his new partnership lasted and she did not want to know.

During that last case, she did sense something off about him, although she could not say what.

The chair next to her desk at the precinct disappeared shortly after his departure. Apparently, Ryan had borrowed it one morning and it simply broke down.

"I swear, I placed only a few files on it and the next thing I knew, I was on my knees trying to put the papers back in the right files. Took me all morning," Ryan has said when she asked about the incident. "Seriously Beckett, Esposito saw it all. Right man?"

"Absolutely," backed up the second half of their duo. "My man here was on the floor gathering his mess, when our Captain Sunshine got out of her office and stopped right in front of him. We all should kneel down before our Captain. Very respectful," then he burst out into laughter.

She did not missed the opportunity to tell them to be more respectful of Captain Gates, and did not believe a word of their story. However, she didn't ask for a new chair in replacement.

"You're sweet Espo, but I'm a grown woman, I can handle it like any other case," said Beckett stepping back in the bloody crime scene, in front of her disapproving partner.

"Oh-hey, Beckett?" he said to stop her from stepping inside again. "Don't push it, 'kay. For all we know, nobody died."

She nodded and, ready or not, she entered the crime-scened apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Last Chapter: **_A storm is raging outside and Kate Beckett haven't seen Castle in two weeks. He requested to leave the 12th after their last case; the TakeOver Bombing at Boylan Plaza. Late after a hard day, Beckett gets a call to assist a breaking and entering. At the mention of "a lot of blood" she can't ignore it and rushes to the crime scene, which happens to be Castle's appartment. Meanwhile, a John Doe was admitted at the hospital for a GSW._

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

The living room felt cold. CSU had the whole lighting system up - on top of a few spot lights brought for the occasion. The living room was the first room in which one enters and it shocked like a lightning in a dark room.

It shocked her that it was _his_ living room.

It shocked her that it wasn't as warm and welcoming as he had kept it.

It shocked her that her world somehow destroyed his.

There weren't many uniforms in the apartment because there was nobody home to question. Also, it was a Friday night; officers tend to desert the place quickly and rather not offer an extra hand. Most personnel were picking up samples of everything around. Her first impression was that they had it all wrong. At any moment, she expected him to come home and say: "What the hell is going on here?".

A CSU agent grabbed her arm before she could walk any further.

"You have to wear these ma'am."

He handed her a pair of paper slippers. "You'll also have to hand over that soaked coat and tie up your hair."

She had a look around and noticed everybody had the same treatment. It was pouring down rain outside, it didn't mean the crime scene had to be contaminated with rain water.

She did as he asked and, before handing her coat to him, she got a pair of rubber gloves out of its pocket and thanked him dryly with a forced smile.

"Ryan?" She called out without searching.

She noticed a small bullet sized hole in one of the window panes in the dinning room. Wind screeched through the small hole as the storm raged outside.

"Right here, Beckett." Detective Ryan stood up from behind the kitchen island. He apologized to the staff members as he tried to move out from behind the island without disturbing their work.

She came to meet him and looked down at the kitchen floor where he had just be kneeling. The first thing she noticed was the blood. It was as large as a medium carpet. The blood looked half-dried and it was contrasting with the kitchen's pale tiles. The sulfured odor caught her nose and made her nauseous. Two crime scene agents were in a squat position sampling it. The refrigerator's door, behind them was wide open enhancing the cold feeling in the whole loft.

"Where are Martha and Alexis?"

"We don't know, we figured they might have left for the week-end."

She nodded.

All that blood, she thought. It was diffused on the sides. Next to it, double-wheeled tracks were coming out of the pool. A stretcher maybe, to carry the body out. A few centimeters from the red puddle, was a plaid white and blue hand towel, soaked with blood as well. The thought of it being _his_ blood made her pulse quicken, she looked away and had herself focus on Esposito's arrival instead.

"The neighbor called us, twice." Said Esposito, head nodding towards the entrance door he had just come from.

"Twice? How come?" said Beckett.

"She said she heard something heavy fall, 'like someone falling', and rushed to the apartment door. When nobody answered, she called nine-one-one."

"The door was locked? So he was – the body was still inside?"

"Yeah, what I thought too. I had Velasquez run the hospital admissions matching Castle's description." Answered Esposito.

"The noise the neighbor heard; what time was this?"

"She said around 7:30 PM, when Desperate Housewives closed into commercials."

"Isn't Desperate Housewives on Sundays at 9?" Said Ryan.

"You're watching Desperate Housewives, Ryan?"

"Say what you want, there is no way that woman was watching Desperate Housewives! It wasn't on tonight" defended Ryan.

"She said it was last week's episode, she had recorded it and decided to catch up tonight at seven, 'kay?"

"Huh, surprising that you asked her to clarify that."

"I didn't ask," Esposito replied, "She came forward with it. You want to hear what she had to say about Mr McQuinn, the neighbor's cat, and Castle's insomniac music preference too?"

"Whatever."

"Alright, what was the second reporting for?" cut in Beckett.

"After the ambulance came in and left, the neighbor said she heard noises again. She knew everybody had left with the body so she reported it again."

"How long after the first reporting?"

"Twenty or thirty minutes after, around eight."

"Okay. So he must be at the hospital and the wheels trails there, in the kitchen," Beckett pointed the kitchen island which dissimulated the blood pool, "must have been from the stretcher's."

"The detail unit then came in, had Robbery on this for a home invasion and Homicide for the blood," completed Ryan.

Beckett and Esposito looked to Ryan, allowing him to his show and tell turn as well.

"Yeah. So we have a dirty knife." Ryan pointed his finger at the floor, behind the kitchen island.

Beckett looked in the direction pointed by her fellow detective; next to the blood pool was a butcher knife stained with a reddish dry substance, looked a lot like dried blood. A wireless residential phone handset was near the knife, closer to the counter and away from sight.

"Suicide attempt?" asked Esposito.

Becket placed a hand on the counter to keep her balance as she felt a sudden weakness in the knees.

"ME didn't think so. He said the red stain looked more like sliced food juice, probably ..." Ryan stepped forward and pointed "a tomato."

Breathing then became easier.

"The knife probably fell off the counter in the middle of action," Ryan then clapped his hands together, "Okay, next. Have a look over here."

He brought them a few steps away into the dining room and drew attention to the window. As Beckett noticed earlier, there was a small hole in the glass.

"Bullet hole?"

"Ballistic will be running it, but it's a fair assumption. If it is a bullet hole, reverse trajectory would be pointing at the building across the street."

They remained silent for a second imagining that last blood chilling scenario. She imagined Castle preparing diner, completely unaware he's being held at gunpoint. He would wipe the knife on the plaid towel, quickly clean his hands on his pants - or on the towel as well. He would open the refrigerator door and seconds later, he'd be lying on the floor bleeding his life away.

She needed a distraction from this scenario.

"Unless the shot came from inside the room," said Esposito.

"In which case we should find the bullet slug inside here, still no luck so far," replied Ryan.

"Eum, back to the window, wouldn't the cracked diameter around the bullet hole be different long-range versus a short-range shooting?"

"Yeah, assuming it's a bullet hole – excuse me gentlemen, lady," interrupted a crime scene agent making his way to the window with a small step-ladder. It brought the topic of discussion to an end.

"Also, I saw a phone on the kitchen floor," she swallowed and continued "is it possible he called emergency himself, too?"

Ryan and Esposito looked at each other. As Esposito decided to verify that, he waved to a crime scene agent for assistance. "If that's true, a simple redial should do it." Esposito and the CSU agent, disappeared behind the counter where the phone was.

"Yeah," said Ryan to Beckett, "It is possible. He was alone, and he didn't think someone else would find him in time ... what's your point?"

Her phone rang at that precise moment. Esposito rose up from behind the counter, the agent followed holding the phone handset in his gloved hand. The caller ID showed Castle's home number.

"Looks like he called you last," said Esposito.

After the second ring, Beckett closed the line. She had a rapid look at her recent call list around the time of the shooting. There it was, and she had missed it.

"Ryan," she said turning to look at him, "This doesn't rule it out. See if he called the ambulance himself, I want to hear what he told them."

"Beckett? You sur-"

"Do it."

"I'll let you know in the next twenty."

* * *

**Thank you for your comments & reviews.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Last Chapter: **_Castle's apartment is now a crime scene. __No body, large blood pool on the kitchen floor, bullet hole in the window, tomato juiced knife and phone on the floor. Stretcher trails in the blood pool_. Suicide attempt or aggravated assault it's hard to tell. Beckett is holding on to the possibility that Castle is still alive, but she cannot help to think of the worse case scenario.

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

"Alright people, what do we know?" said Dr. Josh Davidson arriving in the surgery room, waiting to have the sterile gloves put on by a nurse.

"Caucasian male, early or mid-forty, single GSW to the upper left arm." started the nurse helping him.

"Brachial artery sectioned, bleeding is controlled with tourniquet." completed another nurse who was lining up sterile instrument on a draped table, near the patient.

"Vitals are stable. BP is low-limit; maintained with Vasopressin. Second unit of AB positive ongoing" added one of the anesthetists; she was setting the machines at the head of the patient.

"Okay, okay, ladies," cut short Davidson, "Tell me what we don't know."

"ID is unknown and no visitor has shown up yet. Whole medical history is unknown."

"Guess we'll have to do without," said Davidson. "Where's my resident? Nobody cared to wake him up or what? Get him down here!"

All set, he advanced towards the metallic surgery table where the patient was already lying and draped from head to toe, in sterile blue paper sheets. This was nothing complicated; get the bullet out, repair artery, clean and close. However it was like playing Operation, the Hasbro game, only the patient's life was at stake if you missed. He moved the stool with his foot and saw the blood dropping from the table. He asked for vital signs; they were okay.

"Okay, here we go buddy. Let's fix that arm."

Josh noted the man's fingers were blue and they felt cold when he touched them. "We don't have much time before we lose those fingers," he said. "Get him a hot bag, please." He then took out the soiled bandages. He maintained pressure and had a closer look at the wound.

"Shit!" Blood spurted out of the man's arm "Compresses! Fast, fast!" He applied pressure with one hand while taking the compresses with the other. "Brachial is definitely hit. This tourniquet has to be tighter, or he'll bleed to death at this rate, how's BP going?"

He moved to the side while a nurse covered the patient's arm with the hot bag under the sterile sheets.

"80 over 65. Pulse is compensating. Tachycardic. 133 BPM" Answered the anesthetists.

"God you're strong, Buddy. You're doing great," said Davidson to the unconscious patient. He started the procedure with the classic movie quote: "Scalpel?!"

He took the instrument and was about to cut the patient's arm open when his resident finally showed up, hands at shoulder level, waiting to be gloved. He couldn't hide a yawn before saying: "Sorry, I'm late. What is it tonight?"

Dr Davidson turned around and had a good look at him. Surgical masks weren't practical for one thing; facial expression didn't go through, it was all about the stare behind the plastic glasses. Young Dr Jared Porter was one of those enthusiastic rapping black kids, excited about everything. At first impression, you wouldn't let him touch anything, but he truly was a good surgeon. Once you've seen what he was capable of, one would certainly forgive his overly excited personality.

"GSW …"

"NICE!" dropped the resident before excusing himself abruptly for his misplaced enthusiasm.

"… to the left upper arm. Brachial artery hit. Heavy bleeding. He's a Doe"

"Oh, I love doezz. Got it? Those-does?"

"Yeah. Not that kind of doe ..."

"Yeah, I meant John Does, not the animal, although I do prefer Janes,"

The resident walked over at the patient's head to check on vitals. He looked down at the man face. Even though the patient had a blue hair net on his head, a tube down his throat, drool at the sides of his mouth, even though his lips were purple, his eyelid red and the rest of his skin as white as vanilla pudding, Jared was certain:

"This guy's not a Doe. I know exactly who he is!"

"You know him?" said the anesthetist.

Dr Davidson looked up, quite confuse; how can Porter know a man on a surgery table and be excited about it?

"You kidding, everybody knows this guy, he's the famous writer. One of the New York's Times Best Sellers" Porter said the last part as if he was voicing over a TV commercial. Josh fell the urge to facepalm himself.

"They're even going to make a movie out of one of his latest book. Man, this is unreal. It is _so_ cool" continued Jared Porter.

"Calm down Jared," said Davidson focusing back on the arm "you can fangirl about it later, come over here, I need an extra hand"

"What's his name Dr. Porter, I'll have his chart up here" said one of the nurse standing by the phone hang on the back wall of the surgery room.

"Man, I mean, look at him! Everyone knows who he is. Don't you guys read anything other than medical stuff?"

"Jared, just tell her the name alright and come over here, will yah?"

"This guy is Richard Castle! Fighting crime in and off the books, _Yoaw_!" funked the young Dr. Jared Porter.

An instrument chimed as it fell to the floor. The nurse handed Dr Davidson another scalpel, but he did not take it.

"Jared, hold on to that, will you."

Davidson stood up and allowed his resident to take his place, still glorifying the author's awesomeness. He looked over at the patient's face. This was definitely Richard _freakin'_ Castle lying on his table. He could just not believe what his eyes were seeing. Jared was right on one thing, everybody was suppose to know who this guy was, how was it that no one recognized him before? If he'd know, he wondered if he would've been able to operate?

"Anything wrong, Dr Davidson?" said the nurse.

"Yeah, I sorta know this guy as well," he said dryly.

Last time he talked to the jerk, he had lost his temper and could not stop the urge of punching him in the face. But it wasn't the last time he heard of the writer. Ironically, Josh brought it up in a fight with Katherine Beckett. The last one they had, six months ago.

Kate Beckett had been back from the hospital for a month then. She had been recovering from her gunshot to the heart beautifully — at least, physically. Mentally, she appeared distracted. It seemed normal at the time. He had visited her at her place as often as he had could. After a time, he felt pushed away. She had not been talking about her trauma or how she felt; she had been avoiding the subject like it was forbidden. This was no healthy way to cope. On the other hand, she had hardly ever talked about the job before. After the _incident_, it did not surprise him that she refused to even mention the subject. Then, he was pretty sure she wasn't seeing a therapist, so he wondered with whom she was going to vent it all out?

"Can't Ryan and Esposito help with how you feel? They were there, I mean –" he would start before she would interrupt.

"Please Josh, I don't want to talk about it."

He would then nod and they would eat dinner, or continue to watch TV, whatever they were doing.

Their sex had always been occasional, but after the shooting, it was just weird. He sensed it either as a way for her to shut him up with his questions or for her to stop thinking. Maybe it was both.

Lovemaking over, she would turn her back on him and fall rapidly in a profound but restless sleep.

Then there was the nightmares. Jerking out of one, she would sit straight up in bed while holding her breath, tears in her eyes. She would keep quiet until her hands had found her heart still beating strong. Then she would allow air in only after the confirmation that there was no blood on her hands. She would take one or two deep painless breathes before locking herself up in the bathroom where she would cry under the noise of the shower.

At first, he was waking up with her every night he would sleep over. On occasion, she had let him put his arms around her and hold her while she cried. As time went by, she preferred being left alone. After a while, he surpassed the guilt and accepted to work extra night shifts as to not to see her like this. As the weeks went by, he felt the two of them breaking apart. Josh witnessed her crawling further into the darkness that loneliness and lack of communication had created around her.

Their discussions became casual, their sex even more, and their relationship sore.

When he would confront her about it, she would ignore him and change subject. She seemed perfectly comfortable in this dying and wounded relationship; he wasn't. Oddly, she was smiling more near the end, maybe she was healing mentally, maybe she had succeeded in pushing the _incident_ in a forgotten corner of her mind, or maybe they had just reach her ideal of the relationship, which meant, almost none.

"Kate, we need to talk," he pulled her aside on the day day.

"You're really sweet, but I'm okay now," she had said before kissing his cheek.

"About us."

"What about us?"

"Yes, what about us?" He allowed her time to reply but she remained silent. "What are we, Kate?"

She finally made eye contact with him. A sensible spot, he thought.

"Look, I understand ... what happened," he said, "I understand you needing time and space. But the more I think about it, the more I realize ... you don't really need me."

"Of course, I need you. I never would've made it without you."

"Really?" he said.

"Yes."

"You know what? Screw this. Screw all of it!"

He stood up from her couch and swiped his palm over his exasperated expression. Doing so, he turned his back on her.

"I beg your pardon?" she said in shock, eyebrows furrowed.

"You did not _make it,_ Kate," he sighed and turned around, "You're still wounded, something happened in that graveyard and you kept it to yourself, everything I know about it I read in the newspaper cause you won't talk to me. And something tells me it wasn't all about the shooting, now was it? There's more then trauma to your behavior. It's like you feel guilty of something. At first I thought it was the post-traumatic syndrome. But there is something more to yours and I just can't nail it. So tell me, Kate? What's going on? What are you hiding? Why are you so determined to forget?"

"You are such a jerk! How dare you?" she stood up as well and standing inches away from him, "How dare you bring this up? You think I know why? All I did for the last month is survive. I survived the ... the gunshot, I survived the surgery. Then I survived seeing everyone feeling _so_ sorry for me and you looking at me like a poor wounded puppy. I survived the aftermath. And every _single_ day, I wake up wondering how on earth my heart will survive another day."

"Good, that's a start. Go on!"

"And now, I should explain myself?" she ignored him, "Why do I want to forget this? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"What happened in the cemetery Kate?"

She stepped forward and attempted to slap his face, but he grabbed her hand first.

"What happened at Montgomery's funeral?"

"You know damn well what happened, let go of me!"

"Tell me!"

"You let me go, or I'm gonna make you regret it," she broke eye contact to look at his hands on her wrists. "Let go! Now. I'm not kidding."

"SAY IT!"

"I was shot and I should've stayed dead!" she was shaking and her voice had broke saying it, but she wasn't crying yet, "Is this what you want to hear? It had caught me off guard. I was scared and I couldn't breath, but somehow I thought I deserved it all because I had failed. When I closed my eyes, I wasn't expecting to wake up. Okay? I did not want to wake up. Did I open up enough for you?" she passed her hand over her cheek to wash the tears away.

What he didn't know was that she was not completely honest with him. Back at her shooting, she felt death taking over mere seconds after the bullet forced itself in her heart like a poisonous seed. In this second, she did expect to die and had thought she had deserved it. Nevertheless, she had found herself wanting to live, more then anything, the moment she heard Castle say he loved her. From then, she refused death. She did not mentioned a word of it to Josh, nor she did to anyone else. Somehow, he knew she was still holding something back, but he let it go. Beckett walked herself back to the couch and buried her head in her arms. Josh came to sit next to her.

"DON'T – touch me," she pushed his hand away.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not," she sniffed, "that's exactly what you wanted." She dragged herself farther away from him, curling up in a corner of the sectional couch while hugging a cushion, replaying the scene in her head.

"One more thing; what's Castle's involvement in this?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" she spat. She had not dared to look at him.

"I know he was at the funeral."

She looked at him.

"He was my partner, what did you expect? I would've buried his ass if he dared not to show up!"

"There's something I don't quite understand then, and please let me talk," he swallowed while her stare hardened, "It was a professional sniper, you were standing clear, it was daylight, I'm guessing not much wind – not that it would matter to a professional hitman..."

"What are you getting at?"

"You have to forgive me for asking, but _how_ did you survive? If you were suppose to die, why are you still alive?"

He could tell she was pissed.

"Maybe it was meant as a warning, what do I know?" she finally said holding herself not to either burst out of anger or burst out into tears.

"Castle saved you, didn't he?"

She looked away. Shaking her head in disbelief, she said: "I was shot, Josh. You and your doctors pulled the bullet out. That's how I survived. I don't understand how you think Castle could've topped that!"

He lowered his head and he was now the one trying to hide his tears.

"Wha- so now what?"

"Your nightmares," he answered. "Just before waking up, you would keep mumbling his name."

It had the effect of a knife in her stitched heart. Still, she found the strength to put on a semi-convincing poker face saying: "I already told you, I don't remember much after the shot. He was there, standing beside me, mere seconds before it happened and then it's blank."

"See that's you wanting to forget, the second it involves Castle you're going blank. I think you remember every second of what had happen, more than anything else, but you wish you didn't. Why is that? Why is it that your _partner_, who's not a cop, who's not emotionally prepared for this, could watch you die in his arms and not care to call to check on you even once."

She took a moment and closed her eyes.

"This is the last time I'll tell you; I don't remember. And for the records, I told him to leave me alone."

"Yeah? Why would you do that?"

"Alright" She said in a low voice "I had enough of this, I'm tired." She sighed and stood up, pressing the bridge of her noise. A migraine spike, he thought. "I'm going to go take a shower and you better be gone when I am done"

"You know what?" he noticed his own tone being a bit fake, "I think you're right, you need to rest. I'm sorry. I'll go. Take care."

He left and never came back. She didn't call him back and he didn't care to try either. In his phone's drafts folders there was still a text message for her: "Sorry, it ended that way," but he had never sent it.

"Told you," commented Jared Porter, jolting Josh Davidson out of his memories, "Everyone knows this guy, he's famous. You a fan too, Dr D?"

"No, not really" he answered

"I don't see why. Guy's a genius. I heard he did loads of research for his Nikki Heat books, riding along with real cops and all," babbled Jared as he started to cut the skin open.

"D'you mind if I do the post-op, Dr D?"

"Not at all," said Josh, fairly happy about the arrangement.

"Then it's a deal," said the resident still smiling, "I'll take good care of you, Mr Castle!"

Shortly after, Dr. Davidson excused himself out of the room for a few minutes.

* * *

**Thanks for your comments and reviews. Always loved.  
Also, big thanks to my Beta; love your edits!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Last** **Chapter**: _Dr. Davidson is operating and after he finds out that the man is performing surgery on is Richard Castle, he remembers his breakup with Kate Beckett 6 months ago. However, his young resident, Dr. Jared Porter, is very enthusiastic about the author and substitute Josh for the surgery. In the meantime, the team is still at Castle's place investigating..._

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

This was _the_ author's lair. Where he would find inspiration – or wait for it, – where he would search the web, read newspapers, think, escape from the real world and write about it all. This was the place where his beautiful mind would unravel complex plots into best-selling books. This was where the magic was made.

Detective Beckett didn't get the chance to visit the room very often. To her it felt like walking into a church, there was a sacred, sort of scary, feeling to it. Her eyes caught The Lycée Charlemagne's Staircase in Paris photograph by William Curtis Rolf behind his desk. It was really impressive and somehow mysterious.

She stood in the middle of the room to contemplate it for a minute. She thought of the facts cumulated in a murder case, like the stairs, in a very twisted way. Climbing through the evidence, like one would climb this staircase and eventually getting to the top of the whole story, one would be looking down and proudly see the whole picture. It wasn't the first time she saw the picture, but it was the first time she had time to truly look at it.

Turning her head around, she noted nothing out of place in the room. The room was cold, she noticed the half-open sash window to her right. The water dripped down the open space, but it did not rain inside. The wind seemed to have stop blowing now.

Getting closer to the opening, she heard a slow metal pounding coming from the fire escape just outside the window. Her finger reached out for her Glock 19. When a boot came in from the open window, followed by a leg, she pointed the gun straight at the individual attempting to enter the room by the window.

"Detective, d'you mind lowering your weapon, please?"

The man's head was still outside while his lower body parts were inside the office. It was too dark outside to see the man's face, but she was certain she did not know him. She lowered her gun anyway.

The man got completely inside the office with agility. He tapped his hands on his trench coat. She noted he wasn't wearing the paper slippers.

"Sorry I scared you, Detective," he said, "you can store back that gun now. There was just me out there, no bad guy."

He seemed to find himself very funny.

He looked very young, mid-twenties. He just got out of the Academy, she thought.

"Yeah. Old habit," she holstered her gun without apologizing. A scent of cigarette flew to her, tipping her on what the man had been doing outside. "I don't think we met before. You are?" she said.

"Detective Stephen Malcolm, Robbery. You must be Detective Beckett. I read a lot about you; the finest of them all."

What now, she thought, this kid was drinking Castle's KoolAid as well?

Malcolm's hand waited to be shaken but she just looked at it. For a second, she thought his name sounded familiar but she could not remember where she had heard or read it anywhere. One thing was sure, she did not like the sound of it.

"Yeah. Pleasure," she said dryly.

This young man was handsomely perfect. It was annoying. He was physically fit, young, well dressed, carefully shaved, smelled ridiculously good – passed the cigarette scent, – and, most of all, he was polite. She noticed his hair being combed all the way to the right, like he was attending church with his Christian grandmother. Have some Jazz music in the background and hand him a cigar and a fedora and he would be perfect in an old black & white mystery movie from the 1940s; he already had the smell, she thought.

"Found anything interesting outside?"

"Not much, I'm afraid, ma'am."

"Please," she said, "'Detective Beckett' will do just fine."

If he sensed her tense up, he didn't let it show.

"I'm told you knew Mr. Castle well, Detective Beckett," he dropped.

"He was my partner. You've just been promoted detective, right?" She could tell just by looking at him. "How long?"

"Two months. What do you mean 'was' your partner?"

"Congratulations," she simply answered, not letting go of her dry tone.

She took opportunity of this little cold ambiance she had created to walk over to the writer's desk. His laptop cover was still up. For a split second, she wondered why was it that he did not owned a Mac, all artistic souls owned one – even she had one. She tapped random key on the keyboard and the screen was brought back to life, requesting a password. Of course, every writer would make sure his ideas were secured. She also knew from reading Castle's book, _Naked Heat_, that a writer would also protect his work from computer malfunctioning by printing copies of what he would be working on. From the fact, she searched the white filing cabinet under his desk for paper copies. She found files on the top of his desk, but they were filled with expensive restaurant and fundraiser brochures and invitations. There was also multiple notepads but nothing of interest written in it. She moves the stuff on his desk a bit to make sure she wasn't missing anything.

"D'you know what he was working on, ma'am– Detective Beckett?"

"Not a clue," she said without looking at him, "it's been a few weeks since I last spoke to him, to be honest."

"D'you think what he was working on could be related to what had happen tonight?"

"Anything's possible."

She took the trash can and emptied it on the floor. Malcolm stepped closer and looked over her shoulder while she crouched over Castle's wastes.

"There's nothing here."

She placed both hands on her hips.

"I'll make sure CSU analyzes that trashcan, it would be a _waste_ to forget it," smiled Malcolm.

She brushed back a loose strand of hair back and caught the 60 inch flat plasma screen in the corner of her eye. She remembered Castle having his own personal computerized white board on this thing a few years back. Beckett moved toward it for a closer look and hesitantly touched the screen with the tip of her finger. The screen flickered to life and also requested a password. She figured the screen was linked to another hard drive, but she still could not manage to access it. She bit her lower lip and wondered what the detective manchild was doing.

First he admired the barrel full of exotic swords in the right back corner of the room, then he noticed something on the desk and picked it up.

Malcolm had found a remote control. He was now scanning the room for the TV.

"It's the remote for this thing," she jerked her thumb toward the flat screen behind her.

He looked down at the remote. He started pressing random buttons while pointing it at the screen.

"Detective Beckett, what's your badge number?"

"I doubt that you'll be able to unlock-"

"What is it? 413..10 Is it?"

"41319" She corrected. "Look, I don't think you can-"

The screen came to life once again, but displayed a written document instead.

"How did you know?" said Beckett.

"I was in love once."

"What the hell is that suppose to mean?"

"I read his books too; and they were all dedicated to you … I just placed myself inside 's head and your badge number seemed to be it."

"You are wrong. _Heat Rises_ is dedicated to Captain Montgomery. How did you know about my badge number?"

"Right. But you are also wrong, haven't you read _Heat Rises_' acknowledgement?"

"Malcolm! My badge number?"

"In _Naked Heat…"_

She shifted one foot to the other and crossed her arms.

"…a safe is opened with this number," continued Malcolm, "and when I first came across your badge number I sorta got the reference. I just thought it would make a nice dedicated all-digit password for this too."

"How d'you know it was an all-digit password?"

"There are only digits on this remote."

She nodded having nothing more to say. He tasted his small victory with a smile.

This kid was drinking more then Castle's KoolAid, she thought. Malcolm was reading his books and "connecting" it with reality, reading Castle's words between the lines. This kid was either the brightest young detective she had met so far or he was just a crazy Richard Castle fanatic. She deeply hoped it wasn't both.

"I also know about your mother's case and I wanted you to know I'm sorry."

"Great. I see you've extended your detective's skills to your hobbies. Should I be afraid of being followed back to my place as well?"

He laughed, "Not to worry detective. I already know where you live."

"If that was meant to be reassuring, it wasn't."

"I wanted to learn from the best, since your partner slot wasn't available, I had to find another way. Lucky for me, Mr. Castle is a writer who is inspired by you and your ride-alongs."

When she didn't bought that either, he smiled again, "Still not reassured?"

"Not really."

Beckett went back to the writer's desk and looked for Castle's phone book or agenda. Pretty fond of the latest technologies, she figured Castle's phone numbers and appointments would all be in his iPhone directory, but the device's location was unknown. So she gave it a shot; in hope that a writer's fear of technology malfunctions extended to this as well. She found nothing.

Malcolm bent over and looked down at one of Castle's shelves and chose the latest Nikki Heat. He flipped it over and read the back cover.

"I doubt this is relevant, Detective," Beckett said. She took the book from his hands and put it back with the others on the shelves. However, the book gave her an idea.

She took her phone and called for information on Gina Cowell, Castle's ex-wife and publisher. They had her on hold.

"Just so you know, detective. You were Mr. Castle's partner and you know him well so I'll need to have an official talk with you about tonight's event."

She got back on the line and noted the phone number given to her with the pencil Malcolm provided when he saw her getting her notepad out. She whispered her thanks. She hung up and dialed Gina Cowell's phone number. It was late, she was certain of having to leave a message.

"About you interviewing me," said Beckett before hitting the dial button, "We'll see about that later - Yeah, hi. This is Kate Beckett, NYPD. The message is for Gina Cowell..." She walked out of Castle's office to leave the voicemail.

Malcolm watched her leave and brought the written document back up on the flat screen. He skimmed through the document. It looked like some old archive reports' quotes, or random notes. For a story, maybe.

_ J. Pulgatti (alive); Framed for B. Armund's death. Pled guilty. Held in Sing-Sing._

_ Sons of Palermo was an italian Mafia hang out._

_ Cavanaugh and Murray were both killed on March 7th, 1999 by D. Coonan (deceased)._

He spotted Beckett's last name throughout the files. He sat on the desk, and looked back at Beckett talking over the phone in the living room.

"You were playing with fire, Mr Castle," whispered Malcolm to the empty room.

After closing the door a little more, he started exploring the contents of the screen's hard drive by touching the screen. He peered between the shelves to see if Beckett was coming back. It did not appear so. He figured as High-tech as this all was, a bluetooth exchange application was probably to be expected. When he found it, he transfered all the data he could onto his smartphone and wiped the flat screen's hard drive clean. Then he looked at the laptop on the desk. There was probably a copy of this document on it as well.

"Beckett?" called Detective Ryan.

She raised her forefinger while she finished her phone conversation. Once she hung up, Ryan pointed to her phone, silently requesting she share the information she just uncovered.

"It was Kapowski, I asked her to get me either Martha or Alexis, needless to say she was not happy about it. I also left a voicemail for Castle's publisher, Gina Cowell to see if she knew what he was working on."

"Kapowski? Miss ray of sunshine, always smiling and cheering?"

"What about you? What have you got?" she asked, ignoring his mockery.

"Just got the emergency call from Castle earlier tonight, want to hear it?"

"Yeah. Where's Esposito?"

"He's helping to canvass the area."

She nodded.

"I didn't know they could do this. They send it straight to my phone..." he said as they walked to the right of the office and away from the crime scene. "Technology these days… I still remember when I bought my first CD player, how it used to be trendy and cool."

"Yeah-yeah" she replied, too anxious about the recording to care. She didn't blame him for the light talk; one could not survive doing otherwise with this job. It was a coping mechanism just as good as any. However, with her level of involvement in this case, she just didn't feel attempting it.

They entered Castle's bedroom and she closed the door behind them.

Beckett took a seat on Castle's bed while Ryan pulled a chair from the room's corner. She had wished to listen to it alone, although she felt glad Ryan was there to keep her focused. On the wall, a giant elephant picture to look over their shoulders.

"Here goes," Ryan started the recording on speaker phone.

"_911, what is the nature of the emergency?"_ Said a female 911 operator on the recording.

"_I need an ambulance. I was shot. I'm bleeding a lot,"_ said Castle's voice. His breath was fast paced as if he was talking while he was running. _"Please hurry"_ he begged _"I'm bleeding a lot. A lot"_

"_Alright, sir. Where are you?"_

"_447 Crosby, at the corner of Broome. The top corner loft. I feel very dizzy and cold … please hurry"_

"_The ambulance is on its way, you'll be alright sir. I'll stay with-"_

"_Thank you,"_ he said just before the call ended.

"That's all there is," said Ryan.

"Doesn't look like he lost consciousness, more like he hung up."

"Yeah, if he had lost consciousness the line wouldn't have cut. Can we play it again?" requested Beckett.

"There," she said after the repeat "what is he saying? There right after that, rewind a bit"

The part she was interested in said: "_I feel very dizzy and cold," _and then, in a very low tone, what sounded like_ "oh god warm, hate it, got to come,"_ and normal tone again; _"please hurry_"

"He definitely says something there, turn the volume up and play it again."

They listened to it again. And again.

"Sounds like crazy talk, Beckett. I don't think it means anything. He was about to lose consciousness…"

She looked at him. "We don't know how much time he took him to lose consciousness! Play it again will you?"

"Alright."

While she concentrated, Ryan looked at her. He waited for the part to end and said "D'you think he tried to send us a message or something?"

She shushed him. Beckett made him played it again a few more times. "There is something there, I know it."

"Almost sounded like he said _not to come_, no?" he attempted.

"Could be."

"And wasn't that your name there? Right here. Instead of _hate_ or _hate it_."

"I think I know," she looked up at Ryan with teary eyes, "He said: _Oh god warn Kate not to come._"

"That would explain why he tried to call you last. You okay? You need a minute?" He asked.

"I'm fine."

Beckett pushed the feelings into a back corner of her head, she would deal with them later.

"Why wouldn't he want you to come?" asked Ryan.

"I don't know. And it doesn't matter, I'm here now and I'm going to find him even if it's just to punch him in the face."

"Beckett? You don't think he …. give the guy a chance," started Ryan earning himself the look from Beckett, "… to explain himself. Clearly he was lacking oxygen, didn't know what he was saying," he tried to save his comment, "Look, what I'm trying to say is that he cared about you. A lot"

"Ryan, please don't."

"Either this message was left because he cares about you or it was crazy talk, nothing else sells it."

A sympathetic smile appeared on his face. He put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze before leaving Beckett alone in the room.

Seconds later, her phone notified her of the reception of an audio file. _'Don't torture yourself with it. - KR_' was attached with it. She smiled and thanked Detective Kevin Ryan quietly.

Esposito showed up at the bedroom's entrance short of breath.

"Downtown Hospital. Castle's description fits a John Doe admission earlier tonight, 'round eight."

She got up instantly, ready to run.

"Wait," stopped Esposito with an opened hand, "You are not going out there alone. You are not driving either!"

"How's he?"

"He's in the Intensive Care Unit, he's just got out of surgery. They say he's fine. He's gonna make it,"

"I'll be fine. Let me go, Esposito!"

He blocked her way and took her by the arms: "Kate! I'm serious. You are not going there alone. You are upset and there is a storm outside."

* * *

**I don't want your money, but a review would be nice. ;-)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Last Chapter: **_While looking into Castle's office, Beckett meets young Det. Stephen Malcom, a Robbery Detective. She does not like him. Ryan recovered the call made to 911 from Castle in which he left a hidden message for Beckett; not to show up at his rescue. Esposito later informs that they found Castle. He is in the hospital._

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"Call NYPD." Josh scratched his forehead and closed his eyes briefly, "Ask for … ask for Detective Beckett and inform her that Mr. Castle is here."

There.

He said it.

"Dr. D. I don't think cops should be talking to him so soon. He hasn't even woke up yet," said Jared.

Both looked towards Richard Castle's ICU occupied bed.

"At least," added the young resident, "not until we know more about what brought him here in the first place"

"Yeah, I know, but this man was shot. We've tried reaching his family; they're unreachable, no one knows he has been admitted. Detective Beckett will take it from there. You said you heard rumors about him riding along with cops, she was his ride."

"FAHREAL? Awesome! Hey, but wait a sec, how did you—?" the young resident inquired.

"Later, Porter!" Josh interrupted, "You're also going to have a security detail here, I –"

"Already did Dr D.! Say hello to my pal Georgie, here."

The surgeon turned around a typical nightclub bouncer, without the sunglasses, sitting on a chair in retreat. He barely looked at them at the mention.

"Okay," he sighed, "Also have a restrained personnel protocol to … patient's bed — What the hell?" dropped Josh as a nurse started screaming outside the unit's doubled doors.

"MA'AM?! MA'AM!" kept screaming the nurse, "Where d'you think you're going."

Her screams were muffled by the closed doors. "You're not allowed in this area! MA'AM!"

They turned around.

The doors were still closed, but Josh knew exactly what was about to come through them.

O.o.O.o.O

Doors opened abruptly letting a bull that went by the name of Katherine Beckett - with a confused nurse on her tail - enter this china shop. George the security guard crossed her ruthless path, unimpressed. The nurse, out of breath behind her, bent over, taking hold of her knees.

"Ma'am, please ..." she breathed, "you're not allowed here."

The nurse noticed the Detective's shoe-wear; high heels. 'How on earth?' was written all over the nurse's face.

The mayhem caught both surgeons' attention.

"The lady's right, Ma'am, Imma ask you to leave, please," said George drawing an arm toward the door.

"I need to speak with one of your patients immediately."

"I don't think so, Ma'am. All patients are asleep or unconscious."

She flashed her badge while trying to look over his shoulder. The man was about twice as large as her and two – maybe three – heads taller.

Hospital staff gathered around. The guard didn't flinched.

"Haven't you seen my badge? I'm an NYPD Detective, where is Richard Castle? I need to see him."

"Ma'am, Detective or not, you're not staying. Now move it!"

"Kate!"

Dr. Davidson move to meet her.

"Josh?"

The fearless expression morphed into a surprised look and all her aggressive police manners instantly dropped.

The awkwardness heightened when Detective Stephen Malcolm came running in through the unit's sliding doors seconds later.

"Wow, what did I miss?"

Everybody looked at him in silence.

"Hi. I'm — I'm a... NYPD. Detective. I'm with her!"

O.o.O.o.O

They all kept silent after Josh closed one of the unit's conference room doors behind them.

"Everyone. Please have a seat," invited Josh.

Feeling awkward, Malcolm and Porter didn't dare. They stood arms-crossed by the wall and out of the way. Beckett didn't sit either; she stood in the middle of the room looking quite pissed.

"Fine then!" said Josh.

He leaned on a filing cabinet.

The ambiance was chilly, Porter caught it as he leaned towards Malcolm and whispered:

"They know each other?"

"Dunno."

Josh sighed, this was ridiculous.

"Kate, please have a seat," he insisted has he gestured his hand towards the chairs in the room.

"I don't want to sit."

"Alright, then keep standing!" He said rising both hands out of exasperation.

"Sorta feels like watching an episode of … Grey's Anatomy, without the heart to heart dialogs," said Porter.

"Agreed."

"Bad breakup?" guessed Porter.

"Sorta feels that way."

"That must be why Dr. D. knew about Detective Beckett being Mr. Castle's ride," thought Jared aloud.

"She was his what?" said Malcolm loudly surprised.

"Jared!" shouted Josh, "Why don't you go get us coffees, huh?"

The youngster straightened up and saluted a flat hand over his eyebrow and left the office speed walking.

"Hi. Detective Stephen Malcom, Robbery."

"Dr Josh Davidson ... Surgery."

Hands were shook.

"When can we see the patient?" cut Malcolm.

"I'm withholding any police related business for now."

"Understandable, but—"

"Dr Davidson," interrupted Beckett, "We're police—"

"I know what you are, Detectives. You will not bother my patient with your questions. He needs to rest."

"Oh please!" dropped Beckett, "Like you care."

"I'm sorry?" replied Josh, "Maybe I wasn't clear: this man is not talking to police. Doctors make the rules here, not cops! You want authority here? Show me the warrant!"

Josh Davidson was right. They could not compete. Waking up a judge at this hour for a warrant … and what for? No arrest was planned. Nobody was killed. All they wanted was to interrogate Castle, to know his version of the story and see if aggravated assault was to be charged and whom they would be looking for. However, Beckett knew she was here for more then that. Why leave that freaking hidden message? Why all the mysteries? All the scenarios could wait until the doctors cleared him for police business.

Damn it.

"Now if you'll excuse me ..." said Davidson before leaving the room.

Through the blinds Beckett saw her ex-boyfriend meeting his resident coming back with the requested coffees; four cups of coffee in a carton transport tray. The doctor had a word with Porter, looked back at her and walked away with one coffee.

"Sorry about that," said Porter as he entered the office "Here. Your midnight fix. On the house," he smiled at the detectives.

"Thanks," answered Malcolm.

Beckett didn't take hers.

"Not thirsty, I guess," said Jared Porter, "Huh, looks like Mr Castle went through a lot tonight, we tried reaching the family, but no answer. You wouldn't know where to reach 'em, would you?"

"No; same happened to us. We're still working on it," answered Beckett. "Which bed is it? Castle's?" she inquired in a warmer tone.

She was looking through the glass at the unit. All the bed curtains were drawn. For a few, patient's feet could be seen under the sheets. There were two patientless beds with curtains wide open. The room was in the shape of a circle with the nurse station as the center point and patient's beds as radius. From the office, all the beds were visible except for the one behind the nurse station.

"It's the one... it's the the third from the right," pointed Jared.

Beckett followed his finger and stared at a bed whose curtains were half-open. A buldge in the green-linen sheets at the foot of the bed told her it was occupied and the stillness that the patient was asleep; Castle was still asleep. Safe and sound.

"Detective Beckett," said Malcolm, "We should go, there isn't much we can do for now."

O.o.O.o.O

The storm had settled, but other storms were to come in the following days, that's what the Weather Channel and the newspapers had said all week. Storm season, they called it. It got so serious that the Take Over Wall Street protesters, that were manifesting for weeks now, saw their group number diminished. Police patrol units were on the look out for the protesters finding refuge in the public and residential buildings around.

It was a quarter to five in the morning, she had stayed awake for 24 hours straight. Malcolm was driving his own Crown Vic on West Street Highway, next to the Hudson River. He took the exit for Central Park and headed for her apartment. She didn't need to remind him the address, the boy-detective not only knew the numbers and street corners by heart, but apparently he had already passed by to satisfy his curiosity. She believed it was the truth, not that she enjoyed it.

The city lights were still up but the morning sun was slowly warming the dirty and wet streets of New York as it set. The lighting was beautiful, it showed the city many shades of gray. This was the moment where honest New Yorkers would exchange the comfort of their mattress for the warmth of a morning coffee and dishonests people would walk back to their dark territories. The streets were still fairly empty even though New York never really slept. After a short while, the city lights went off ringing the unofficial signal that the night was over and the day was beginning.

Kate Beckett yawned loudly and covered her mouth with the back of her hands as she looked out the backseat side window. She thought of the recording from the 911 call instead. What the hell did it mean? 'Warn Kate not to come' why? Being angry with her didn't seem enough for him to push her away. Ryan had suggested it was out of care. For her protection. Okay, but protect her from what? Instinctively, a sentence Roy Montgomery had said a few minutes before he was killed, months back, came back to her mind:

'They_ are coming to kill you, and I'm not going to let 'em. I'm gonna end this'_

So Castle thought he'd be protecting her from _them_? Was that it? How could he be stupid enough to think he could keep them at the bay when her own Captain, highly involved, couldn't.

Damn it Castle, she thought.

Beckett caught the clouds in the sky, dark clouds. The second raging storm was heading their way.

"Detective?"

Beckett was brought back to the Crown Victoria's backseat. She held her head with her hand when she realized her fingers were caressing her lips. She looked at his eyes in the rear-view mirror.

"We're almost there."

I know, she thought with annoyance.

She had left her car at the twelfth last night, leaving Castle's loft. Malcolm then picked her up and drove to the hospital that was close by. After last night's events, and the run to the hospital, she couldn't just head back to work without a rest. Again, she didn't need to ask Malcolm, he sort of just knew and she was too tired to protest, so she let him drive her back to her place.

She hadn't cornered Detective Stephen Malcom yet. Beckett didn't have any rational reason to feel that way, but she felt she couldn't completely trust Malcolm. She didn't like it. For now, she blamed fatigue and his childish, arrogant assurance that kind of reminded her of Castle, a few years back.

"Thank you," she dropped, "For the ride."

"My pleasure," he replied.

She sighed, leaned against the car window and closed her eyes a few minutes.

O.o.O.o.O

The sunlight shone brightly in her apartment hallway, it blinded her and discombobulated her walking. She grabbed her apartment doorknob and forgot where her keys were. Letting go of the doorknob, the door opened on its own. Quickly, she reached for her Glock.

The door was only one third open; she could barely have an angle. No sound though. She thought of opening the door slowly but she knew the old wooden door would screech, so she kicked it wide open. With the nine-millimeter in hand, she cleared the rooms, one after the other. There was no one there, but someone had been in her apartment. The living room, bathroom and bedroom seemed as she left them, but her office had been searched. There were papers lying on the floors, her iMac was in standby when she was certain she had turned it off and her trash can had been emptied. The pictures, that used to hang on the walls, were all down on the floor.

The window panes were wide open and the pictures and Post-Its related to her mother's murder case were either on the floor or still hanging a few inches away from where they were. She couldn't tell if anything was missing, she had to clean it up first. Her guts told her whoever searched her office had left empty handed.

She went in the hallway and examined the door lock.

Look liked forced entry. It wasn't brutal though; at first sight the lock appeared picked, but it wasn't. The entry was forced physically; there were small paint and wood chips on the floor and there were marks beside and around the lock. It was almost as if the intruder tried picking the lock and when he couldn't - inexperience maybe - he made better use of his tools. Beckett was too tired to think, she needed to rest, only then would she be able to made sense out of it.

While undressing, Beckett thought of asking Gates for a detail unit outside her apartment, but she didn't want to tell her about the breaking and entering yet. Somehow, she felt like she couldn't trust her with that information. On the other hand, it was the responsible thing to do, especially with Castle's worries. She wondered if he had left any message when he called her cell phone earlier last night. She couldn't remember. She checked, anyway.

Low battery.

These Smartphones, she thought, they could hardly stand a day with a single charge. The device had just about enough juice to satisfy her curiosity.

No voice mail.

She plugged the phone in the living room and locked every exit door and window and went to bed. Forgetting about the security detail, she was fast asleep.

* * *

**Reviews. Reviews. You know I like them. Let me know what you think of the story so far. I'd be immensely happy.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Last Chapter: **_At the hospital, Beckett is unable to go at Castle's bedside for he hasn't awaken yet and her ex-boyfriend, surgeon Josh Davidson, haven't cleared him for police matter. After biting their heads off over it, she returns home only to find that there was a break in: her lock was forced and her office has been trashed. She still managed to find some sleep, after this long and challenging day._

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

At 8:30AM Saturday morning, she went to the kitchen to grab a bite before heading back to work again. She had been laying down for about three hours, sleeping maybe two of those. Still feeling the pillow marks on her face after a slice of toast and a glass orange juice, she went took a shower hoping to wake up a bit more.

On her way back to her room, enveloped only in a large white towel, she noticed the number four flashing on her answering machine. Beckett did not recall hearing the phone ring while she was resting and she doubted it was from the half hour she had been up, so she decided they must have been from the day before. She pressed the play button and left her bedroom door open.

First message was the videoclub: she was late on returning The Incredible Hulk, the TV series from 1977. The second had recorded a hang up sound. Weird, it was the third hung up her answering machine recorded this week, she thought.

The third voicemail froze her to the bones.

"Kate," said Castle's voice, "I can't tell you why or how I know this, but you need to be extra careful. Okay? Storm is coming. Don't try to reach me or my family, I made sure they'll be safe. New York is going to be a dangerous place to be in the following days. Please, _please_, don't do anything stupid. For me, please."

The line cut after a slight hesitation.

Okay, now she was fully awake, but she still needed a caffeine fix like the drunk man needed one last drink. On one hand she hoped the extra dose of caffeine would make her see past this rush of thoughts about him. On the other, she needed the soothing hot cup in her hands, the scent of coffee in the suffocating air and the comfort of its taste in her dried mouth.

She was out of milk. Damn it, she sighed. She had the message replayed again while swallowing the bitterness of the black coffee.

There wasn't any hidden message in this one. Or so she thought, even if she couldn't help thinking he was talking of more than the actual weather. She took another sip of her beverage before listening to the fourth and final message.

"Katie, it's Dad. Just wondered how you were doing. I know it's late. Call me whenever you can, 'kay? Bye."

The thought of calling him back right away crossed her mind, but she would have to lie to him saying everything was fine. She decided she would call him later today.

Her cell phone startled her as it rang.

"Beckett?" she answered mechanically.

"Hey. It's Ryan."

"Oh hey, any luck on reaching Castle's family?"

"Nope and to be honest I got distracted."

"Okay, well put it on hold, I think Castle hid them."

"Hid them? What makes you say that? You talked to him?"

"No, but he sent me a fair warning on my answering machine, probably before he was shot, saying he made sure they'd be safe. I think he knew exactly what hit him and why. But he wasn't awake this morning at the hospital. You said you got distracted, why is that?"

"Yeah. Sorry for asking, but what have you done worth questioning?"

Immediately, she thought Josh had filed a complaint about her bad cop act at the hospital. Then she doubted he made it that much of a deal. He could not blame her for trying to get past his authority, now could he?

"No. Why? What's going on?"

"Well, the sharks are searching your office as we speak. And I saw them in Gates office. They kept checking up on you. Where you were and why you haven't showed up for duty yet."

"Wh- What? Why? What is Internal Affairs looking for?"

For obvious reasons, police quicknamed Internal Affairs 'sharks'. Bred to smell blood and bring you down in the troubled water with a single bite. No one knew exactly where the metaphor had come from, but rumors had it they started it themselves. A vicious ruse to instigate fear in cops so they behave, or make the mistake that will be the end of them. Beckett knew better than to fear them. She had a perfectly clean path so far. Sharks did not impress her.

"Don't know, I thought you would wanna know... oh! Gotta go."

He hung up fast.

Seeing her office in the back, in the other side of her living room, still trashed because she haven't cleaned it up, she connected the dots. Whatever IA were looking for, they must have searched for it at her place as well. The timing was too perfect to be coincidental. On the other hand, Internal Affairs was police investigating police: they didn't have more power than other cops. If they needed a place searched; they needed a warrant just like every cop in town. Something told her that the person who broke into her place didn't have nor waited for a warrant: this wasn't IA's work — not official work anyway. But why was the IA interested in her to begin with? What or who tipped them? And what wrong doing was she suspected of? She needed answers. Therefore she started this investigation just like any other; she gave up sleeping and started knocking on doors — or Gates, for that matter.

Before leaving, she call the phone company as a police officer using Gates identity and badge number to ask for her own latest received call informations on the residential line. She asked for all the incoming calls from the last week without any confidential number notice. The operator did no fuss and proceeded to the inquiry. The fax in hand a few minutes later, she found the videoclub call and Castle's warning. She looked in between and found the number she had been looking for; the hung up. She wrote it down on a piece of paper that she put in the back pocket of her jeans. Then she searched for the other hung ups from the week before. She found Castle's number again, all three hung ups were Castle's. Beckett felt bad. She wondered if knowing it was him, if she would have answered if she ever had the chance to.

Overcome with guilt, Beckett picked the phone and checked up on him at the hospital.

O.o.O.o.O

"Please sit," invited Captain Victoria 'Iron' Gates as Kate Beckett entered the glass office. It had been almost seven months, and the good Captain had the place redecorated, but Beckett couldn't help but seeing her previous Captain's office furniture every time she stepped in. Victoria Gates, nicknamed 'Iron' Gates, had kept fairly the same setting, which didn't help the distinction with Montgomery's previous office. She kept looking towards the dimmed sun lit window, hoping to see him standing by the glass, his back facing her, wondering. The Iron Captain was different; more steal-hearted and strict, more "Iron". She was more allergic to abnormalities and more dedicated towards the city's numbers and statistics, but she was a fair captain. At the very least, Captain Montgomery would have trusted and respected Gates. And so will I, thought Beckett.

They weren't alone in the room. Beckett noticed the two suited silhouettes only after Gates closed the blinds — all of them, the ones in the outside windows and the ones between the office and the bullpen. The only light on came from the office lamp on Gates' desk. Actually, there was also Gates office phone; its LED indicated a least one voicemail. The flashing red light caught her attention.

Beckett knew these strangers in the room with them were IA agents just by the look of them. She walked towards the chair that was presented to her and a female Internal Affairs detective closed the door behind her as Gates was back behind her desk.

Beckett remained standing in front of Gates while both sharks walked back behind Gates' office. The family portrait of the two detectives and Gates was intimidating. Beckett had no trouble imagining Gates as an Internal Affairs detective before. Looking at them, she noticed the 'family' traits. The three of them seemed like all teeth out for blood. It was something in the eyes. It was creepy. Gates' red blouse enhanced the impression.

Captain Gates started to move a pencil through her fingers. At that moment, Beckett knew this conversation wasn't going to be easy.

"Detective, please sit," she repeated firmly.

Beckett held her stare and finally took the seat she was offered.

"Detective, these are Detectives Yvonne Dent and Anthony Lain, from Internal Affairs," started Gates nodding over the two detectives while holding the pencil tighter with a full hand.

Yvonne Dent, Kate Beckett had never heard of. She had long blond hair combed back tightly into a perfectly straight ponytail. Her arms were crossed in front of her revealing her athletic, almost skinny, silhouette. Dent's face had an Asian look, but with that hair and that tan, her blood was definitely mixed. From a certain angle, Detective Dent looked a lot like a tall and angry chihuahua.

Detective Dent nodded in salutation, but Detective Lain came forward and offered his hand for her to shake.

"Actually, I think we've met before," said the deep voice of Anthony Lain. His big voice didn't seem to fit his body. It reminded the first time she had hear Rick Astley's voice.

Beckett remembered Tony Jaw from the Police Academy. He graduated a year after her, but he was already known then as Tony "Jaw" Lain for his temper and squared jaw. It had always been clear to Lain that he wanted to work with Internal Affairs. Back at the Academy, he was a loner and never wanted any friends. A lone shark even then. A long, clean scar was covering a blinded blue eye. Both his eyes were blue, but the blind one was lighter. Rumors had it that gun ammunition had blown up in his face at the shooting stand. Rumors did not explain why he wasn't wearing protective goggles at the time. The accident cost Lain his right eye and scared his face from the eyebrow to the top of his left cheek. Apparently, the story was the reason why he carried a gun without bullets.

Lain's musculature had improved over the years, but he was short for a cop. His hair was as blond has his partner's, but he had a military cut. Lain looked like a small but handsome surfer dressed in a suit. After shacking Beckett's hand with strength, he put his hands back in his pants pockets, an arrogant smirk on his face.

Lain and Dent were very brotherly, suggesting they had been partners for some time.

"Is there anything you'd like to say before we start, Detective Beckett?"

"Yeah. Whatever you think you have, it's bullshit."

Dent dropped a laugh. Gates gave her a look and Dent shut herself up.

"Some reports were stolen last week from the Archives. Anonymous sources mentioned you might know something about it. Do you?" Gates asked.

"No, sir, I don't. I haven't heard of the event until now."

"Alright, alright. Dent and Lain will investigate the input. But I'm sure there is nothing to worry about. Good?" she stood up, satisfied and turned to Lain and Dent, "You may use my office."

Gates explained to Beckett that the two detectives wanted to have a little chat with her.

"Thank you, sir," said Lain and Dent in unison as she headed for the door.

"Sir, please. One last thing," Beckett stood up as well. "What about my office? I believe it was searched."

"Everything was dealt according to procedure. Do not worry, I made sure they had a warrant, and they did. Nothing was seized."

"Okay then, I want to call my lawyer."

Gates laughed, "Why do you want a lawyer for? I thought you weren't involved."

"Sir, I am not but I know my rights. The fourth Amendment; there is no way a warrant was delivered after an anonymous source. Either there is something you are not telling me, or this wasn't dealt according to procedure. So which is it?"

Gates didn't laughed anymore "Detective Beckett, this is my precinct. I call the shots here. When I tell you everything is okay. Everything is," Gates said, " And when I say you cooperate, you'll do as I say, and cooperate. You can call all the lawyers you want, after the friendly meeting. Now. You'll let them do their job. Do I make myself clear?"

Did Gates just winked at her subtlety? Before she even knew it, Beckett agreed to her Captain.

"That being said," Gates looked at Dent and Lain severely, as a warning, and softened as she looked back at Beckett. "When this meeting is over, we need to have a talk, Beckett."

Gates closed behind her after as she left.

Detective Dent got a recorder out of her pocket and turned it on. Lain observed Beckett's reaction with what seemed to her like perversion. Dent stated the date and names of the room occupants out loud for the recorder. However, Beckett noticed they had not informed her of her rights. They are still fishing, she thought. They would not have forgotten. They wanted her collaboration, not scare her with the official rights statement. She was not a suspect just yet.

Dent then seated herself behind the office desk and Lain pulled a wooden chair. He sat on it backwards.

"Give me a little context here guys. I don't know anything."

"Last week, on Monday, certain files were requested and it appeared that the documents were copies. The Archives looked further into it and find out that several files linked to the first ones were also copies. We were called in to investigate from there."

"Are you familiar with these names, Detective." said Lain.

He handed her a piece of paper where names where listed. She looked at them and remembered many of the cases.

"Yes, some recent ones relate to some of my previous homicide cases."

Seeing the names, she quickly figured a pattern and looked to see if she couldn't find her mother's name on it to confirm. She found it with the 1999 cases. Most names she recognized but not all sounded familiar, not even the recent ones.

"Records says you borrowed them over the years-"

"As many other cops. I assume you'll be interrogating them as well?"

"Of course," said Lain that spoke for the first time since the interview had begun.

"What was the anonymous input saying? That I had them; the missing files?"

"We'll be asking the questions Detective Beckett. You are admitting being in possession of the said files, am I correct?" interrupted Dent.

"Some of them were my cases, I wrote the reports and assembled most of the files, so yes, I held some of the original copies. Stop beating around the bush. Why don't you get it off your chest and say I'm your main suspect," she stood up and their eyes followed her, "I also have a job to do, so unless you have any more serious reasons to believe I have something to do with this, I'm done with this _friendly_ meeting."

Dent stopped the recording and rose up to her level, both hands on the top of Gates office desk as she leaned towards Beckett. "Detective Beckett, you are involved in this shit. I can tell by the smell of it. You make one false step and we'll make sure your pretty face hits the ground."

Beckett leaned on the desk as well, until her face was a few inches away from Dent's.

"You have nothing and I've never been afraid of barking dogs."

"Alright. Enough for today," cut Lain as he rose up as well. Dent didn't seem to agree with her partner, she said nothing though, "We'll be seeing you around, Detective Beckett."

"I hope not," said Beckett as she speed-walked out of the glass office, slamming the door shut.

Ryan jumped two feet up in the air when Gates' door closed behind Beckett. He apologized to his phone interlocutor and hung up.

Katherine Beckett had never been in IA's line of sight before, although someone once told her one thing: Don't give them anything you don't have to. She walked to her desk to see how much dirt they had plan on dragging her into. It wasn't actually a mess, but she could tell everything had been searched indeed; every drawer opened and every paper flipped. She located her chair in retreat.

Beckett noticed Castle's chair back in its usual spot. Well, not exactly his chair, the one he used to sit in. Nevertheless, it felt odd seeing an empty chair next to her desk again. She slapped herself mentally; every office had to have a chair next to it. Hers wasn't going to be any different.

She woke her computer from the NYPD's screensaver only to discover that her accesses were blocked.

"You have to be kidding me, come on!"

She tried again for the sake of it. Nothing.

It was at that moment that the IA detectives decided to leave Gates office.

Beckett growled silently.

"Why do they want to bite your ass for?" Ryan dared to ask after reaching her desk.

"You saw or you heard?"

"Both. Until Gates closed the blinds, then I only heard some of it."

"It's nothing, they'll be off my back soon anyway."

"Maybe not."

"What d'you know?"

"Nothing. I heard about a guy back in VICE. He was clean, we all knew he was, but they were onto him, thought he'd crossed. He became stressed and one day, he jerked out a very important infiltration operation. In the heat of action, he shot a civilian thinking he was armed. The guy wasn't. IA dragged him deep down in the dirt. See, none of it would've happenned if it wasn't for IA. My point is, IA doesn't care about the truth. If they think you should go code seven, they'll make sure you fall. You better watch it, Beckett."

Ryan's face was all red with anger.

_Code seven_ referred to the ten-code system used by the police and _Ten-Seven_ meant "Out of Service". That was also the inspiration for a lot of cop bars in many towns.

During this time, Lain and Dent had picked up their stuff and had left Gates office.

"Don't worry 'bout it," said Beckett after a minute.

Seeing Gates entering the break room and feeling she'll be called in the glass office again, Beckett remembered she needed something from him.

"Ryan, I - eh, could you look into something for me, off the books."

He made sure no one was watching and said: "What d'you need?"

She handed him a small folded piece of paper from her jean's back pocket.

"They blocked my system access, and I need to run this number. Can you get me all you can on it? Owner. Location. What the caller ate for diner, anything."

Ryan took the paper and tucked it in his chest pocket.

"On it."

"BECKETT! My office!" Gates ordered as she got out of the break room.

"Thanks, Ryan," concluded Beckett before meeting in Gates office.

"How is Mr. Castle?" said Gates without giving one glance towards Beckett. The question had the effect of a slap on her face and sort of reset her anger.

Gates seated herself and put on her glasses, pushed them up on her nose and picked up the pencil on the desk without further explanation. She opened a printed document in front of her while waiting for her answer.

"He's hum … he is out of surgery, but has not awaken yet. He's out of the woods, sir." Beckett then, reported the little information the nurse had kindly given her this morning when she checked up on him.

"Very good. Very good."

What does she care, thought Beckett in confusion.

"What do we know exactly? Of what happened."

"He was shot at home." Continued Beckett.

Gates finally looked at her.

"GSW to the upper arm… Huh, I'm sorry sir, you'll have to forgive me for saying: I thought you didn't like Castle, at least not enough to—"

"Care? I still don't, but that doesn't mean my heart's made of stone. Assaults, aggressions, violence, murder, attempted murder. Who ever the victims are. It all saddens me very much. How people can be so cold-hearted? One thing is certain, those offenders need to be taken off our streets. You need to understand, Detective, one of the reasons I find Mr Castle … disturbing is his fascination towards death. All his fame, all this money of his because he exploited death, as if it were an art. That and; he does annoys me very much; I'll give you that," caught Gates rapidly, "Anyway, my feelings for Mr. Castle are not in question here, the Mayor bragged me all morning; they want an official press conference. My answering machine must be full of it now." Gates gestured her office phone with a flashing LED, which Beckett noticed earlier.

"Right. Of course," said Beckett.

"About the IA investigation, Detective," Gates looked at her over her glasses, "Yes, I was IA, but I'm not anymore and there is a reason for that. I wanted to make sure you knew you had no enemy in this room."

Just has Beckett thought Gates had a grew a heart, she added:

"I don't appreciate that kind of bad publicity in my department. We are the city's finest. The finest. I won't let IA say otherwise."

Slowly, the captain put the pencil down on the table.

"Was there anything else?" said Gates realizing that Beckett was still standing in front of her.

"My computer accesses were blocked, how am I suppose to investigate if I can't log-in into a computer?"

"Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about it. Fortunately for you, you have two fine detectives always happy to give a hand."

"For how long, sir? I can't work my best without those accesses." She paused and then continue when Gates did not picked up "I can't do the paperwork, I can't research …"

"Like you Detectives miss the paperworks," she laughed, "You can still interrogate people and make phone calls," she added realizing that Beckett was not amused. "You know this department existed long before the arrival any form of modern technology. I'm sure you'll be fine. I insisted that your accesses be returned within forty-eight hours. By then, if they haven't found what they were looking for, they should let you do your work like the good cop you are."

"Thank you, sir," she said. After a moment, she left the office. Gates placed the pencil back in the pencil holder with the others. She joined her hands together on her desk and held her forehead. After a few minutes, she opened all the blinds again, letting the light in. Unfortunately, the dark clouds ahead were already shadowing the morning sun. Gates flipped on the ceilings neon lights instead. Her office phone rang, but she gave herself a minute to look at the city she swore to protect a long time ago.

* * *

**To be continued.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Last Chapter: **_Waking up from a very sleepless night, Beckett analyses her breaking and entering and finds another message left by Castle on her answering machine. Back at the office, she learns Internal Affairs have an eye on her on a missing documents case. Her precinct accesses were blocked and her office searched after IA's passage._

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

"Give me the prints report Espo, will you? Twenty print matches, how is it even possible? I doubt the Wall Street Bull has that much prints on it in a day."

"That's because they put barricades around it." Esposito handed her the lab files of the Murdock case when they got to her office desk later that day. Beckett almost had forgot about the open case they were working before going to Castle's place and reporting his disappearance. Almost a week before, a body was found outside a downtown club, renown for being a biker's hang out. The man was found face down in a garbage can. The case file murmured "reckoning" from every angle, but as always, she refused to close any doors prematurely. She heard in the past week from colleges whispering behind her back that she was different since Castle was gone, less smiling. Although she found this case rather boring, it was no excuse to wrap this case hastily or let the tracks become cold. This man had lived and even if he had no family and no story, what-so-ever, he deserved justice. Just as much as her mother would. Just as much as every other homicide case touching their desks.

She put down her tea cup while it was infusing and still too hot to handled. She opened the files she had in hand.

Lab results for prints was twenty-five pages long. She skipped the introduction and summary of the file in the first few pages and got to the numerous result pages. They were separated in two columns. The left-hand column showed the print sample from the crime scene and the one to the right showed the match found in the database. Over each match, was the name of the individual and a short description of where the print was originally found. For some, pictures were attached. For several others, though, the prints were matched to unidentified prints from previous cases in the system. These prints will simply add up until the individual to whom it belong is caught and supplied his known prints to the data bank. When that'll happen —if it does, — the District Attorney's office could be charging the arrestee with more than what he came for.

"It's nineteen matches. What's with you?" said Esposito noticing her edginess like a red wine stain on a white shirt.

"Nothing."

"Nineteen, and that was just matches between the garbage can and clothing. They rejected the others prints taken from the can because they were either too partial or too random. Those," he tapped the file in her hands, "are from people that touched the can and the man's clothing. With a little luck, one of them did it."

"Maybe they all did it."

"The Murdock autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow morning. Hopefully it'll give us something to narrow it down even more."

"Tomorrow morning? Why did Gates authorized our week-end overtime with this case, if we have nothing to work with?"

"Nothing to work with? Let's bring those guys in, and shake them a bit, see what spills out. Are you sure you are okay? I get that you have a lot going on but the Beckett I know," he made a short pause to accentuate his point, "she would never talk like this."

With her head down, Beckett closed the manila file and handed it back to him.

She sensed it coming and kept avoided his stare. However, being the good partner he was, he didn't say a word. It was a cop thing; you needed to talk, there were shrinks for that. A good partner was to help you stand up, not help you understand why you could not.

She appreciated it. After a few awkward seconds of silence she spoke: "What's Ryan working on?" she nodded toward the blue eyed detective in the bullpen, working his office phone. She grabbed her tea cup from the counter, next to the espresso machine. It was now over-infused for her taste. She dropped the tea pouch in the garbage near the door as they walked out of the break room together.

"Not exactly sure," he answered, "by the way, I asked VICE for everything they had on Murdock and those names," again he made a gestured reference to the print reports now in his hands, "but their fax is down, they'll send it in as soon as they can."

Beckett apologized as she couldn't help but to yawn in his face.

"Heard about Castle's hidden message. Look, I just wanted to let you know that—"

"Please, Javi. Don't."

"Would you just let me finish?" he paused a second to make sure she would let him continue, "I was checking Castle call logs from last week. I wanted to understand the order of events."

She was certain he had noticed the numerous phone calls of a few seconds long left by Castle all week; the hung-ups. However, he had the professionalism not to talk about those. They were non-significant phone calls to the case, anyway. 'The case', the one they were all working without any official authorization to do so, she corrected. Once they found Castle in the hospital, still alive, this case slipped from their hands to the tenth precinct, into Detective Stephen Malcolm's robbery division. Well, at the very least, she was immensely glad this case didn't truly end in the Homicide division — of whatever precinct! She didn't know how she would have had handled it. Still, she was certain he would have liked the irony of the mystery author ending in the one mystery nobody could solve: instead of writing the perfect crime, he would have become the one. Yes, Castle would have certainly loved it, apart from the fact that he would have played the dead body in the story. Esposito kept talking.

"He called you on your cellphone two minutes before calling 911. He then called you home and your cellphone again. Looks like he had something important to say. Did he leave a message, by any chance?"

"Yeah, he left one on my answering machine, at home. It was another warning, but nothing hidden."

He paused. Beckett wondered if he was going to ask about it. He didn't. Instead he moved on to the next subject on his mental list.

"I actually have something better." He moved a step closer, "His building's cameras showed he left at 6:54AM that morning. The cams don't show from which door he came back, but the cam in his hallway shows him opening his apartment door at 7PM."

"I'll have to see that tape!"

"Thought you'd say that, it's in the meeting room."

"If Castle got inside using an exit door, wouldn't that trigger an alarm?"

"Normally yes, but, guess what, the old man said the system was down."

"That's his Superintendent you're calling the 'old man'?"

He nodded once and continued: "According to him, the alarms were brought down manually for a few hours for maintenance on the building's exit doors. They shut it down so it wouldn't bother the tenants."

"Well, were they down around the time Castle was shot?"

"The old man didn't know, but suppose so."

"We need to speak to the men that worked on the doors!"

Again, Esposito nodded down.

"Agreed. And if you're wondering how Castle figured out the alarms were—"

"Bet the tenants were informed of the work being done on the doors."

"Eh… Yeah. You sorta ruined it here."

"Sorry. We need to speak to everyone again, especially those who had the apartments around the exits door. Also, I want the name of everybody that knew the alarm was down."

"Sure." Said Esposito.

"Also, get Ryan or someone else and get me Castle's financial records and complete phone logs, I want to know what he did for the last two weeks."

"No problem. Also, Detective Malcolm called. He said he needs to talk to you."

"Why. What did he want?"

"Didn't say. But. Hey, I was going out grab a coffee, wanna come?"

"No, I'm gonna sit this one out, thanks."

"You sure, I heard this place is very loved by maintenance guys working exit doors."

"You mean, one of the men's gonna show up?"

"Positive. So, you want coffee now?"

"How did you?"

"I'll explain on the way. Come on."

He started walking and she followed without considering if she wanted coffee or not. Whether, this guy was going to show up or have reliable information for them, at least she now had something to sharpen her claws on.

As they walked towards the elevator, passing by the main office room, Esposito gestured 'You, Coffee?' to his crime partner, still on the phone. Detective Kevin Ryan raised his forefinger.

"What? When?" He said to the phone "Alright, alright, I'll tell her. Yes, I'm doing it right now. Thanks." He stood up before he even hung up. The awkward expression on his face didn't change, "Beckett, where's your phone?"

"It's right,—" she drowned her hands in her pockets, but she couldn't find it.

"I usually always have it. I must have left it—" As she tried to remember the last time she saw it, the image of her checking her voicemails in hope of having any left by Castle appeared. She then remembered having placed it to charge in the living room because its batteries were dead. She, however, did not remembered picking it up this morning when she left. She had called the phone company with her residential phone, in the kitchen, then she left with her cellphone still in the living room. Damn, she swore quietly.

"Okay, okay. Never mind," Ryan stopped her, "the hospital has been trying to reach you."

Suddenly, all her troubles flew miles away, she felt a wave of excitement rushing up her spine to the bottom of her skull. He was awake, she thought. "It's about Castle, " said Ryan, "They lost him."

She choked quietly as the weight of the World stepped on top of her shaky shoulders.

Heart in her mouth, she had to sit down. Quick or she would fall. The chair beside her office desk, the one Castle used to sit on every day for the last four years, was the one to catch her. For mere seconds, her ears replayed Kevin Ryan's last words and her eyes stared blankly at the empty space before them. It was seconds to the real world but long, lazy minutes to her.

* * *

**To be continued.**

**What an awful way to finish a chapter, I know. I'm sorry. In the mean time (_mean_ is the word) any theories? Thank you all for your precious reviews, and MEGA thanks to my Beta ;-)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Last Chapter: **_Esposito and Beckett are discussing the thick print report on the Murdock case. Beckett is not top shape and Esposito notices. But he let her be and fill her with the new information he collected on Castle's case, even though it's not their case. On their way to meet a person of interest in Castle's case, Ryan informs Beckett that the hospital has bad news: they lost Castle._

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"What happened?" said Dr Carter Burke, Beckett's therapist with an edging interest in his voice.

Kate Beckett understood the confusion as she remembered blaming Ryan's fantastic choice of words the previous day. "They lost him, but not lost-lost him as in d—" She sighed with frustration. "He is missing from the hospital. As far as we know he's still alive."

Her mouth opened and closed again; unable to formulate or explain her disturbed thoughts at the moment. She lowered her head and closed her hands into fists to make them stop shaking.

"Talk to me," encouraged Burke.

"What if the ones who tried to kill him two nights ago, had come back to finish him? Maybe, he wasn't suppose to survive," she said.

"Kate," said Burke in a comforting tone.

"Seriously! Tell me why else?" she said with a clenched jaw, "Why else would he have been kidnapped a few hours after surviving a gunshot, what could possibly make more sense?"

She sighed.

"Kate, calm down. Why would someone want Castle dead?"

She looked at the window as she bit the inside of her cheek. It wasn't in his habit to interrupt her silent thought process, but this time he did. He said her name again. She sniffed and said; "I have no idea."

Once out of Burke's office, she drove the Crown Vic into the first alleyway she found. She killed the engine and threw her head back on the headrest. She released the tension in a loud sigh and closed her eyes. It only took a minute before she broke down in tears.

After a time, she got out of the car to breathe the fresh air, but it was warm, heavy and humid.

She found herself leaning against the car's open door. Her hands found her mouth and she had to let it out once more. Her inability to cope made her feel helpless. Why was the thought of him so painful? Why was she feeling so much? It seemed that the more she cried, the more she felt on the edge of losing it completely. She felt like she was falling into a dark hole. No matter what she tried to hold on to, nothing seemed strong enough to break her inevitable fall towards breaking down. She had to push the fear out, flip on the cop switch. Sooner, the better. It was the only way she knew to live with the unthinkable.

After an hour, she was sitting on the ground, back against the alley wall. Her cheeks were still wet with tears, but the crying had stopped. Homicide Detective Beckett felt she could breathe a bit better now.

"Let me ask you this" she remembered Burke saying in their meeting today. "If you don't have a body, only blood, what do you, detectives, assume?"

"Depends on the amount of blood," she had replied.

She was going to leave it at that, but seeing he wanted her to clarify her thoughts by keeping quiet, she went on: "If there is large amount, we assume we're looking for a dead body. If there isn't, it's a missing person report."

"You had a large amount of blood, and found a living person. What must you think, then?"

"Nobody is dead until a body drops; no body, nobody died."

He seemed satisfied with that answered. "Look," she tried to explain, "I see what you are getting at, but the thing is this isn't just anybody. I came to you because I can't think straight. And if I can't think straight—"

"Why can't you think straight?"

"You _damn_ well know why and we already talked about this. It's still the same _goddamn_ answer!"

"Yes. You care about him," he recapped. Still shocked by the fact, she turned her head around as he continued; "and somehow, you think it's a problem. Is it really that complicated?" She didn't answer. She stared down at her fingers instead. Her head lowered to the right as she lost herself in her thoughts again. Burke studied her a moment before saying: "Did he know your feelings for him when he left two weeks ago?"

Her head shook 'no' instantly. "I never told him." She let the silence fill the room before clarifying; "It doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"Do you believe it would have changed anything then, if he'd known?"

She raised her shoulders and let them fall back loosely; "I'm not sure I wanna know the answer."

He gave her the time to think. Burke had realized over time that Kate Beckett's main defense mechanism was deflection. It was subconscious but she had made it a habit of replying with another question instead of answering any difficult questions. However, it was easily overpowered with persistent silence. He waited a little longer and had his answer; she sighed and eyelids dropping closed to answer; "Maybe."

"Do you feel responsible for what happened to him?"

"No." Was her first and instant reply. "No. I just feel … helpless and useless."

She took a pause to breathe while she tried to make sense out of the scrambled thoughts. "Although, I do feel responsible for something." She paused again, "I can't help but think he left in the first place because of something I did. The way he looked at me, I mean, he barely even looked back at me, when he left, two weeks ago. He was distant. Cold. He was different." After that, Burke noticed she opened her hands and moved her arms around as she talked. "When I asked him what was wrong, he gave me the same crap he had told everyone else. We've been partners for four years, you'd think it would mean something, but it doesn't!" She lowered her head again, and clasped her hands, "I thought we were getting closer, I thought we were becoming more."

She sighed again, "He wouldn't just do that to me unless it was because of something I did. I caught his eyes at one point. You know how they seemed? Fine. Not a single regret. How — eh, never mind."

"Go on."

She struggled to get that part out: "How can he say he loves me and serve me that kind of look as goodbye? Every year, he would leave for the summer, and those moments felt more important than that. Now, it's as if he'd … moved on."

She paused, realizing what she had just said. "It's as if he didn't feel anything anymore. It's like he wasn't _there_ anymore. Oh god." Beckett raised a hand to her mouth as she realized what she had been saying. Her teary eyes met his, but he allowed her a moment.

"I got to see him at the hospital, the night he was admitted. I wasn't suppose to, but I did." she said. "He was there, unconscious, I could've told him how I felt, right there, just to try. I wanted to, but I didn't."

"Kate. Don't be so hard on yourself. You weren't ready. You still aren't."

"Why am I not ready?"

An even more burning question was 'When was she going to be ready?' but she already knew what frustrating answer he would have given her and she didn't feel like hearing it again. Instead, Beckett got up and walked around a bit.

"It's been nearly seven months." She tried in vain to calm herself down. "Now he's godknowswhere, possibly dead and," she swallowed and washed away the tears that had rolled down her cheeks, "I might never see him alive again."

"Kate, I don't usually suggest a behavior, but none of that negative thinking will help you find him." Burke raised his hand in form of a fist as he said: "You have to hold on to the possibility that he is still alive. Faith, Detective Beckett, is what you need."

Still seated in the alleyway, she lifted her head up to the sky and closed her eyes as water drops fell onto her nose and mix with the tears on her cheeks. "Where are you?" She whispered, now better understanding her motivations. Dead or alive, she now knew that she would find no rest until she would found out what had happened to him. Whatever the truth, she would handle it, because she needed to know. A warm and humid wind rose from the streets in reply. The second storm was now over New York, the city that never slept.

O.o.O.o.O

She had hoped to grab a sandwich somewhere on the way back to the twelfth, but didn't dare to stop anywhere, now adding growing hunger to this stormy Sunday road nightmare. She looked at her watch and tapped nervously the leathered steering wheel at the next red light. Her phone rang. She quickly took the Bluetooth out of the glove compartment and plugged it in her ear canal while she kept her eyes on the road. She activated the device with a single touch of her finger and answered with her last name. Doing so, she blind spot checked over her shoulder before engaging herself in the next lane. She was turning left onto Broadway Street as the light changed to green when Esposito told her over the line: "Gates is pulling the Murdock case off our hands. They have another one for us. Where are you?"

"What? Why? Where are _you_?"

"Getting to the scene. We're handing the Murdock case over to the Feds, the case links to a serial."

"Murdock? A guy whacked head down a garbage can. Everything about this case is random. How can it be serial? You sure?"

"Just forget about it. Ryan already wrapped everything we had and send it to the G's. Our next victim was found, near the Brooklyn Bridge, It's on the South sea ports, in some old abandoned warehouses. Anyway, I'll text you the exact location in a sec. See you there."

She sighed as the Esposito hung up, she turned on the red and blues, and weighed the accelerator down to the car mat.

It took nearly twenty-five minutes for her to get to the South Street, under the FDR drive, two kilometers before the Brooklyn Bridge. Damn traffic and damn people's driving when it poured rain.

Beckett had no trouble finding a parking space near the crime scene's secured perimeter. She took a minute to herself before getting out of the car. She closed her eyes and made an extra effort to push all of the last days emotions out of her mind. Whoever the vic was, it would need all her undisturbed attention. Away she pushed Murdock's case. Away Burke. Away Internal Affairs and their suited shiny ass. Away Gates and away Malcolm. Castle was much harder to put aside; targeted, shot and kidnapped. No, Castle was not getting out of her head. She would have to do do without as she could still feel the light touch of him under the hospital greenish sheets she stole two nights ago.

Damn her feelings.

Damn Richard Castle.

Damn this storm.

Damn all of it!

She got out of the car uneasier and edgier then ever today. She walked up fast to the yellow tape and flashed her badge as the crowd control officer lifted it up for her. She barely noticed that the poor rookie was completely soaked and made no extra effort to thank him before heading to the warehouse door.

The warehouse facade wasn't new; the brick walls under the small windows on this 60's two-story facility were as stained as old eyes ringed from past tears. It poured rain, but she made little attempt to hurry up or to cover herself. She felt rain drops streaming down her face, but somehow she appreciated it, it felt appropriate.

Inside, the building wasn't much better looking. There wasn't much to look at anyway and it was very dark. She pulled out a flashlight. It felt abandoned, although not uninhabited. Creepy. Old carton boxes, empty spray cans and indoor street art covering the walls confirmed it as she got up to the second floor. For a second, she thought she was in the wrong building, but crossing an older uniform, she felt reassured. Beckett lowered her light down on the floor while passing him.

"It's on the third, Detective," He said, while he kept his eyes low. He took the stairs down and she heard him sigh before raising a white tissue to his face: "Poor kid." The old officer disappeared at the bottom of the staircase.

She put on her blue rubber gloves and then realized it was a two-story building; there was no third floor. She turned around but the uniform was gone already. She forgot about it.

The first thing that had caught her on the second floor, was the smell; it smelled of humidity, urine and mildew. Weed too. The floor cracked under her steps as she got into the room with all the scene lights. She could hear the rain dropping from the ceiling in the other unexplored rooms.

The body of a young black-skinned man was lying in the center of the empty rotten-wooden floor, face down as if he had fallen from the sky. The COD, cause of death, seemed obvious; single gunshot wound to the chest.

"GSW. Straight through the heart?" asked Ryan to the ME. He squatted next to the body, his back towards Beckett.

Instinctively, her hand found her heart. Nobody noticed.

"Yes, the exit wound is in his back." The ME, pointed his pen towards the bloody wound. From where she was she could not see the head; it was facing the ME, looking towards the only window in the room.

Lightning struck outside. Quickly followed by the thunder rumble.

"However, this is not where it was done." said the ME.

Not enough blood around the body, thought Beckett in agreement.

"Body is lying face down," explained the ME "But. There is more blood on his back, this is not how gravity works most of the time. I am pretty certain that _if_ you find a bullet in this rat-hole, it won't match the GSW here. Your guy was dumped here."

"TOD?"

Time of death.

"I'd say approximately seven or ten hours ago, around twelve and three AM this morning. We'll have to wait for the autopsy to confirm."

Beckett walked up to the window and got caught distracted by the water streams dancing their way down the glass. So much for undisturbed attention, she thought after getting back her focus.

Ryan stood himself up, put hands on his hips and had a good look around after thanking the ME. Beckett turned towards him. "Where's Esposito?" She simply said after they saluted themselves with a friendly nod.

The ME that had been hiding the body from her since she moved to the window stood up and walked out of the room.

"Think he's having a look outside – Beckett. You okay?"

She was as pale as a glass of milk. She was staring blindly at the body's face for the first time since she got in. Worried, Ryan took her arms and backed her against the wall a few steps back.

"Beckett?" He shook her but she kept looking in shock into the dead body's empty eyes "You okay? Beckett?"

A lightning strike lit up the room as the thunder's rumble flashed the crime scene lamps, but there was no more light in Jared Porter's blurry and blind eyes.

* * *

**Ouf. Castle is not dead after all. That was mean, I know. But it was necessary. You'll see why in the following chapters.**

**And just in case, you forgot: Jared Porter was Dr. Josh Davidson's resident in the previous chapters.**

**Reviews, reviews. Let me know your thoughts. ;-)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Last Chapter:** _Beckett's meet with her therapist, Dr Carter Burke and tries to find the strength to go on with the investigation without having her feelings for Castle in the way. On her way back, Esposito informs her that their current case was transferred to the FBI and that another body dropped; that of young surgeon prodigy Dr. Jared Porter, one of the doctors that operated on Castle, two nights ago._

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

Her face lacked emotions when she loosely stirred the stick in the cold coffee cup. She looked at the time and then turned to hopefully lose track of it in the raindrops licking the window glass.

The waitress came and filled the third missing from the porcelain cup. Beckett thanked her dryly, looked at the entrance door then at her watch again. It was almost eight. She had a sip of the awful, but warmer, liquid before adding a cube of sugar from the little jar on the table. She tasted it again. Not better. Maybe with a bit more milk — too bad, there wasn't any left in the basket on her table. Looking around she noticed the milk basket with a few cups left in it, on the empty table in front of hers. She picked a few and sat back in the seat next to the window.

The coffee was still awful. She sighed loudly and took another sip of it, trying to ignore the taste.

"That coffee doesn't seem very good," said a man standing in front of her table, waiting to be invited.

Katherine Beckett turned toward him.

"Dad! Where have you been?"

She stood to kiss him on both cheeks and hug him.

"The subway station was closed because of the storm," explained Jim Beckett after they parted, "there was an accident on Broadway and a flooded construction site on Lex. It's the Apocalypse out there, I hope this is over soon. I'm sorry I got you worried."

The thunder rumbled as to corroborate his claims.

He had ordered a coffee and a burger. Minutes later, the waitress came with black coffee. Jim offered it to his daughter and when she politely declined, he said: "Please, Katie. I am too old to have coffee past seven. It's for you."

He pushed her cold coffee away and put two milks — which he also stole from the table next to them — and half a sugar in the new one. He stirred it briefly and pushed it towards her. "Just how you like it."

It was still too hot. She kept her hands around the warm cup and hid a thankful smile. Jim Beckett started the casual conversation. Looking outside, she noticed a car parked outside the diner. It hadn't caught her attention before because the engine was off and the interior of the vehicle unoccupied. A few seconds ago, she thought she noticed someone inside.

"Katie? You okay? You seem a little off."

"I'm okay. It's nothing. Really."

She took a sip of the coffee and looked back at him. Glad that this one tasted better, she smiled.

He was not fooled, "Sweetie, I heard Castle was kidnapped from the hospital. It was in today's newspaper."

"Seriously, Dad, I'm fine."

"You've always been so strong, sweetheart. Just like your mother," pulled into a memory, Jim Beckett continued, "So proud and determined. It was almost arrogant, it annoyed me like crazy." Mr. Beckett went on after sorting his thoughts; "Once, at the courthouse. She was defending this man. A pure jackass from jackass-land. It wasn't like she was court-appointed on the case, she choose to defend his case but deep down she hated this man very much. One day, I asked her why she was doing it, — y'know, if she hated him. 'The only thing this guy deserves is a good kick in the ass' she said 'but, he didn't kill anyone. Unfortunately killing my patience is not a crime punishable by law. No worries, though, he'll get what he deserves after he walks out of here free.'"

"Was the guy acquitted?"

"Yes, he was," smiled Jim.

"And? What happened to him?"

He noticed how much she was drinking his words. He smiled again, deciding to keep her longing a bit more.

"Well, he had the arrogance to ask her out and she said 'no.'" He chuckled.

"It must've pissed her off. It must've pissed _you_ off."

"We barely knew each other at the time, but no, it wouldn't have bothered me anyway. See your mother was a lady. One would not just ask her out. You wanted her, you had to impress her, make her want you. Reverse the steam."

She laughed, "You know, some days I wonder what I inherited from you."

"You have my weaknesses, sweetie. That is why you'll never fool me. We are very bad and shameful liars. We care too much. So I'll ask you again, and this time you tell me the truth. How are you really holding up with Castle's case?"

She escaped in a look down at her coffee trying.

"It's hard," she started finally, "I mean, it's not my case, but I got a case that seems related to his. And I don't even know how I'm going to do this. I want to solve both theses cases but … I'm scared."

"What are you scared of, kid?"

"That we end up tripping over Castle's dead body."

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"It's okay, honey. It's okay to be afraid, but it doesn't have to stop you."

She kept her hand in his and escaped in another sip of coffee.

Out of the blue, rain beat against the diner's front window. Like everyone else in the place, they turned towards the noise. When she turned around and looked toward the counter instead of the windows, there was a tall man on a stool, wearing a raincoat and a hat. He looked briefly towards the window as well, but quickly looked away when he saw that she was looking at him. The waitress came back to the table and placed a white plate of fries and an all-dressed hamburger with the top bread on the side.

"Want some? Hey but— Where are you going?"

Kate had almost reached the counter.

"Hey, do I know you?" she said to the raincoat man. "Hey! Answer my question."

Before she could do anything, the man had left by the back door. She could not get a good look at him, but she noticed the kind of bulge at his hip; he was carrying a handgun.

"Who is he?" asked Jim Beckett once she was back at the table.

"I have no idea who that guy is."

"Then why did you— ah, never mind."

They looked outside the window and saw the raincoat man running under the pouring rain, stopping the traffic with a single hand while he crossed the street. Then, he disappear in a poorly lit alleyway across the diner.

"The car. Where is it?" She noticed out loud.

"Car? What car?" Said Jim Beckett with his mouth full. He swallowed his burger bite, "Your service car?"

"Huh? Oh. No, nothing. I'm sorry."

"When will you stop thinking I'll buy such lies," he said lightly before dropping his jaw and having another big bite of burger.

"It's nothing for you to worry about. I'm sorry, you know it is."

"Indeed, I do." He coughed to clear his throat and smiled as he took a napkin to clean his lips from the mayonnaise and beef grease.

"What are you going to do now?" he moved on.

She brought the coffee to her lips and said: "Head home. Have some sleep. It's been a hard week."

As she stood herself up, she said: "by the way, the man from your story, the jackass mom hated; it was you, wasn't it?"

"I don't know what makes you say that." chuckled Jim Beckett with his mouth full of fries.

"Looks like you can't fool me either, 'Night Dad."

She kissed his cheek, after he swallowed.

"I guess you really are tired, 'Night Sweetie."

The bell over the entrance door rang as she left. Jim Beckett watched his little girl walk away through the window. He dried his lips on a napkin, once his meal over and went to pay at the counter.

"Anything else, sir?" asked the waitress when she saw him looking at the draft beers behind the counter.

He declined.

"Yeah, no. Just a tall glass of water. Thanks."

He took an orange bottle and swallowed a small encapsulated white pill with a sip of water. He placed a Hamilton and a Lincoln under the glass and pushed them forward. He thanked the waitress again and the bell rang his departure.

O.o.O.o.O

However, Kate Beckett did not go home that night. She changed her mind halfway there; "You know, what, I don't want to go home," she told the cab driver. At the corner of Broome and Crosby Street, she got off.

Beckett shook the rain off her coat's skirts before pulling out the remaining yellow tapes from the front door and allowed herself inside Castle's apartment with little efforts on the door's lock.

The kitchen floor had been cleaned from the dried blood but the dust started to accumulate on the surfaces and furnitures. Castle's apartment felt lonely and cold still. She thought of the bullet hole in the living room window. The window had been patched; insurance would be paying for the damages and replacement after.

She thought of Martha Rogers and Alexis Castle, the author's family who were nowhere to be found since the beginning of this nightmare. Were they safe? Or was their lives also in jeopardy like the author's? She had to open up missing person's files for all three of them. Nobody else could and they had been out of reach for more than 48 hours. It ended up in Malcolm's precinct.

Beckett went into the kitchen, turned the lights on and looked at the floor, where the blood had been. She looked at the patch in the living room window, as she walked towards Castle's office, at the far right of the apartment. She opened the door and leaned on the door frame. The city lights was reflecting over the small room. She saw the beauty in it and understood why Castle had made this room his creative workspace.

The garbage can that she remembered flipping over, the night she was called in to investigate a "massive blood lost" in his apartment, was back up but empty. Beckett got close to the window and opened the window sash Detective Malcolm had used to go smoke outside the night of the incident. The rain had stopped. The steel balcony, leading to the fire escape, was fairly dry for her to step outside.

The metal clanged under her heels. She bent over the ramp and looked down at the street below. She could see two large garbage bins on wheels against the building wall.

The wind blew strong; she took a step back. She wanted to sit for a few minutes, but ended up squatting against the brick wall.

She pulled her cell phone from her trench coat pocket. While she put it against her ear, she covered her mouth with her free hand. After taking two deep breathes, the recording started and Castle was speaking to the 911 operator again. A mix of anger and guilt overtook her as she heard his hidden message again. For a few minutes, she let herself believe that these were the last words she'll ever hear him pronounce.

After wiping her tears away, she got back inside Castle's office without closing the window. She went into the bedroom and opened the closet. The scent of him rushed to her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She let herself flew away in the images that came to her mind for one brief moment. Soon enough, she closed the sliding closet door abruptly, feeling stupid. She looked at the entrance to the room, imagining him standing, amused. "Smelling my clothes, are we now?" he would have said, "I didn't know you I would think you miss me."

"Not exactly," she would have denied in response, "I was just thinking you had more clothes than I."

"Sure you were." He would have replied. She then figured her imaginary Castle would have came next to her, slid the closet door back open and hand her a blue dress shirt, saying "If you feel like crying on my stuff at least take my favorite shirt."

"I'm not going to cry on your stuff!"

"It's okay, no one has to know. You are all alone here. Even I will never know."

She imagined getting lost in his bright blue eyes as hers were filling with tears again. "I'll find you," she whispered to his shirt. "I know you will," she imagined him replying.

She heard a noise outside, coming from the office.

"OPEN UP!" followed by banging on a window. "Come on, Jessie. Open up!"

More banging.

She left the blue plaid dress shirt on the bed and entered the office. There, she saw the window sash still open. She went back outside and saw a young man on the second floor, pleading for his girlfriend Jessie to open the window for him. She looked at the street level and understood he had used the garbage bins to climb onto the raised fire escape ladder.

That easy.

It was that easy to get into an apartment in this building.

A smile appeared at the corner of her lips.

O.o.O.o.O

"Anything new on Jared Porter?" asked Beckett as Detective Kevin Ryan entered the twelfth detectives' bureau with several files in hand.

"Hey, Beckett."

She was leaning against the side of her desk, looking at the board.

"You got here early." He said. Next to her was four coffee cups, from different shops. Ryan decided to ignore them. In the last few days she had been acting rather normal for the untrained eye but her trauma was hiding in the more subtle things. Beckett was working really hard to keep her troubles low profile, but she was not as fine as she pretended to be and it saddened him. He knew it wasn't a matter of trust, it was just personal stuff. There was a thing he had always admired in her; her incredible ability to compartmentalize her life, turn on the cop switch at will. However, lately he wondered if she was still able to turn it off as easily. If she wasn't in fact numbing herself with the job to avoid feeling. VICE had taught him, many years ago, that; we, the people, all have our drug; for some it is heroin, for a lot it is alcohol and for others, like Katherine Beckett, it is the job. He knew she had lived through enough life-threatening experiences that she couldn't possibly function properly without that kind of loophole, but these past weeks she had lived too much too fast; or rather she postponed living and moved on too fast. She was like radioactive matter: her emotional state could be subtly felt but not seen and she could explode at any given time. He briefly looked at the file in his hands as she pointed them to him. The content of that file was minor stuff, but it was like poking at a bee hives, he knew that eventually all hell would break loose, no matter how little the stuff. He licked his lips, buying time on how to start this information sharing session. He decided to go straight to the point.

"Both the vic's parents and siblings alibis checks out, but hum ..." He stood in front of the board and took a photo and slided it to the 'Person of Interest' zone. "We couldn't alibied out Dr. Josh Davidson." Joshua Davidson's portrait from the American Board of Surgery's records was staring back at her. "I'm sorry," Ryan added.

She took the files he handed her.

"He was at the bar all evening, alright," explained Ryan, "but the bartender said he left around 9 PM. He thought it was odd since the Yankees were in overtime. According to him, he didn't drank much that night. Didn't call a cab. He lives a few corners away, my guess is he walked back home."

"He's not much of a Yankees fan. What's that bar again?"

"Paradise, on seventh—"

"Paradise, huh?" she said absently trying not to think of what joke Castle could have turned this information into. "Why did he lie?"

"I don't—"

When he saw that her eyes were closed when she talked, Ryan understood she wasn't asking questions but speaking her thoughts.

"Call him back in," cut Beckett, "and give me something I can hammer his head with." She stood and got closer to the board and wrote down "Alibi?" in red and capitalized letter under Josh's eight by eleven picture.

"Background, Ryan. Leverage, something that would make his chair more uncomfortable!" She explained to unfreeze him. She capped it and Ryan moved at the 'toc' sound the pen made when she placed it back on the metal marker tray.

"Sure." He said, "I'll be all over him,"

It sounded weird to her ears. He waved in a Forget-It way as he walked back to his desk. She sketched a smile when he was too far away to see it. It vanished when she turned back her attention to the board again.

They had recovered the state's Department of Motor Vehicles photo of Jared Porter and pinned it to the middle of the board. The DMV's file on the Vic wasn't recent; his driver license had expired two years ago when the young man decided to rely only on public transportation. He was 25 years old. Born and raised in the Bronx. He had a place uptown, where the rent was cheaper. The neighborhood reminded him of home, said the mother. Family and friends said he had always stayed out of trouble and no one would ever want to hurt or harm him; the classic. As one would expect from a young prodigy doctor, he had no criminal records – at all! Peers saw him as a genius with a funky personality; Beckett thought the description suited him well, but she had a hard time believing he had always been out of trouble. When she pushed the question, she was told that he was asthmatic as a kid and could not play much outside with the others: never really blended in the group. He would always stay inside and read a book or act his favorite movies scenes on his own. With adolescence, he didn't change his routine and kept to himself. It made sense, she had to agree. Still she kept a question mark in his description information for him.

Next to the frontal portrait, were CSU photos. CSU reported nothing crime-related around the body; junk for most of it. It correlated with the ME's theory that it wasn't the crime scene. All that was relevant in the room was the body. Without the autopsy report or preliminary analysis from the ME, there wasn't much to start with. There was nothing in his pockets either, no ID, no wallet, no money; Robbery was notified, but they didn't sneak their nose in yet. Or if they had, they did not care to consult and were conducting a separate investigation. Whatever, she thought, Homicide and Robbery didn't quite like working with each other; different procedures and different stakes. The less stepping on the other's playground, the better it was.

Thinking back about Porter's case, with so little facts, she kept thinking, all that was left was wild theories. Beckett liked to stick to facts better, although she admitted that without any wild theories, they would not find how the facts held together. The mystery needed that glue to be solved. That's why a human mind was involved; to think, assemble and uncover the picture closest to the truth. She took a sip of her self-made coffee and winced at its room-cooled temperature.

Castle came to her mind then, and she went outside to breathe the afternoon humid air outside the building. She stayed in the door frame and held the thick metal door with the tip of her shoe while looking at the rain pouring down.

She took out her phone and called the main phone of the tenth precinct, she presented herself, and ask for Detective Malcolm. They put her on hold. After, five minutes, she wondered if she had called the right number. When he was finally put on the line, Beckett told Malcolm about Porter's murder and Josh Davidson's absence of alibi, but left out the part where she had been romantically involved with him seven months ago.

"I see," he said after a short silence, "you think Porter's murder and Castle's disappearance are related. Well it has to be," he reformulated, "No such thing as coincidence; the guy gets kidnapped and one doctor is killed the next day while the other can't provide an alibi."

"Exactly," she agreed. "I'll have him picked up and brought down here, if you want to have a little chat with him as well."

"Yeah I'd like to talk to him. We also recovered the official transfer authorization paper the paramedic gave the hospital, it's legit but it is signed by Dr. Davidson."

That last information shocked her but she was not easily impressed, "Oh, would you look at that. Did you had it send to the lab for prints?"

"R-right, good idea!"

She rolled her eyes up.

"Also, about your vic," he continued, "the nurses of ICU remember Dr. Porter talking to the EMTs. I had the nurses meet the sketch artist, I have their faces right here."

"Fax them to me. D'you have their testimonies? I'll need that too."

"Like it was done. Anything else?"

"You might want to send out an APB for those two paramedics, alert the press and the media, the whole shebang!?"

"Yeah, yeah, I have. So far no hit."

She found it odd, since she had not heard of it outside work, but she realized she had not watched or tuned in to any news lately and APBs generally circulated among the patrol units.

"I'll send you everything we have so far," said Malcolm, "Since it's a fair assumption our case links—"

"Yeah-yeah, of course; I'll send you everything we have as well," cut short Beckett as-matter-of-factly.

"— I was thinking, we work together on this."

Momentarily shocked, she caught up by saying: "You'll have to bring this to the attention of your Captain, Malcolm, it's not up to me." She was quite content to have a procedural way of saying 'Thanks, but no, thanks."

"Already did."

Her smile dropped.

* * *

**Let me know, your thoughts and wild guesses in a review.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Last Chapter: **_Beckett meets with her Dad at a coffee shop. A man wearing a raincoat appears to be spying on her but she loses him before confronting him about it. Then, feeling tired and lost with Caslte's disappearance, she found herself sleeping at Castle's place and discovers that it might be very easy to get into his building. The next morning, Josh Davidson's alibi doesn't checks out and Malcolm is insisting on working the Castle case with her, a proposition she is not too keened about._

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

Detective Javier Esposito entered the observation room with his mouth full of sandwich. As he bit into a big piece of it again, he noticed the identity of the suspect being interrogated; Josh Davidson, and two investigators asking him question; ex-girlfriend Kate Beckett and rookie-_dick_: Stephen Malcolm.

"Interesting."

He turned on the video feed and speakers.

"I was home, okay? I swear, after the bar, I walked straight home," said an angry Josh Davidson through the speakers.

"Anybody can back you up on that?" asked the radio-twisted voice of Kate Beckett.

Doctor Davidson exhaled heavily and nodded left to right. Beckett asked him again to make sure he wasn't hiding anything only because she was in the room; "Anybody walked you back home? Someone from Paradise?" He kept his answer; he was home alone.

Malcolm asked one more time — one too many, — and got Josh Davidson irritated to the point where he had to walk it off in circles in the interrogation room.

"No alibi, huh? I bet a superstar doctor like you have surveillance cameras in his block." He was about to leave and investigate that avenue, when he realized; he was going to help the guy. He grabbed the last half of his sandwich and finished it in two mega bites. Esposito decided he didn't need a reason; an innocent man deserved to be innocent. He scrubbed his hands together and left.

O.o.O.o.O

Her phone beeped at the reception of a text message. The text was from Detective Kevin Ryan; all EMT's agencies of New York, all five boroughs, were negative on identifying the two paramedics that kidnapped Castle. They were still waiting on New Jersey's response, but it seemed obvious; these two men, weren't actual paramedics. She received a second text from him; this one stated that the ambulance used to kidnap Castle was found after a doctor recalled the serial number on the ambulance. 'CSU: 2 check it out' Ryan wrote.

"Anything else, Detective Beckett?" cut Malcolm in the Interrogation Room. After, she was done with her phone; she leaned back on her chair and encouraged him to go on with a distracted gesture of hand. Malcolm draw back the sketches and placed them in parallel in front of Dr Davidson.

"Any of these men look familiar?"

Careful not to suggest any answer to the suspect, Malcolm did not reveal anything else about the sketches. Josh Davidson pulled on closer, looked carefully, then at the other. He nodded negatively.

"Who are they? Could they have killed Porter?"

"It's a possibility. However, for my part, I'm more interested in Mr. Richard Castle's disappearance from the hospital."

Josh Davidson chuckled, and Beckett picked it up. They held stares, defiantly.

"These were made from the two EMTs that proceeded to his abduct—ion." Malcolm stopped when he noticed the staring contest between the two of them.

"What's going on?" he said trying to interrupt.

"A comment, Dr. Davidson?" said Beckett.

"Back to family names now?" He leaned back on his chair, crossed his arms and, without letting go of her gaze, he said: "I've never seen these men in my life."

"Are you sure? Maybe you want to look at them one more time before giving your final answer." Pushed Beckett.

He sighed and got closer to the sketches again, but his answer did not change. She pull the sketches away from the surgeon and looked at the pictures herself, while the interrogation went on. One man was older, maybe twenty year more than the other man. The younger she was certain she had never seen, the the older man's portrait, she felt she might know, but couldn't remember from where.

Her cellphone vibrated inside her jacket's pocket warning her of an incoming voice mail.

"I'll leave you with Detective Malcolm for the remaining of the interview." She stood up without further explanation and gathered her things. "Don't leave town," she said before shutting the door with little care.

Beckett stopped by the break room for shortbreads and a coffee before listening to Gina Cowell, Castle publicist — and ex-wife— returning her call. Beckett had almost forgotten about it. She had called her last Friday, at Castle's apartment trying to figure out what the author was working on. She called her back and they agreed to meet at Gina's office, Downtown, later that day. Beckett didn't get into details but answered some of the publicist worried question.

After a few bites and sips, she brought provision and settled in the observation room. She took a chair and watched the show.

"…having me wait for three hours without explanation, is that how you expect collaboration? Your two very insistent police officers dragged me out of a very-important surgery, in front of all my colleagues and guess what? The family saw me escorted by cops, what impression does that leave on people, huh?"

Beckett chuckled: "Oh, why hadn't I realized you were so self-absorbed before?" As she bit half of a shortbread, she continued after swallowing; "_so_ much more important than the rest of us."

Actually, she remembered admiring what she perceived as self-dedication at the time. His humanitarian trips to Africa, she remembered hating but somehow deeply admired. That was the definition of their relationship: bittersweet. She always felt uplifted when he came back, as if he had been back from the war. For a few days after, they would be okay. Inevitably, there was the downfall and she would remember just how much their similarities were drawing them away, like two magnets of the same polarity. Fortunately for them, it didn't last because he would go back to save the world across the sea, and she would be go back to saving the world just across the street.

This cycle went on for months before she found herself wanting … more. It was her shooting that gave them the final hit. Dr Burke thought that the shooting made them crossed in the other's world; she was the patient in need of saving and he was the traumatized boyfriend in need of justice. They were each other's victim and savior; it couldn't work. When they broke up, she had expected him to go back to Africa. Learning he didn't, she was left wondering why.

"You lied about your alibi for Porter's murder, Dr. Davidson, understand that this is normal procedure, given the circumstances." calmly explained Malcolm to answer Josh's complains.

"Show him the transfer request Malcolm," wished Beckett out loud. But, it wasn't until after five minutes of useless talk that Malcolm finally brought the transfer request on the table. Dr. Davidson instantly jolted: "This, I can explain."

"Let's hear it," said Malcolm.

Beckett shifted her weight and leaned on the table. She noticed bread crumbs and cleaned them away with a slide of her forearm.

"Porter ran to me, he wanted an explanation on why I had authorized the transfer of his patient. Like you, he thought that that was my signature."

"Dr Davidson. Sorry to interrupt. For the recordings, please refer the patient by its name."

Josh's eyes lowered to the table and noticed the recording device pointed towards him.

"Uh, Richard Castle — I'm sorry, I thought I wasn't a suspect? Why are you recording my answers?"

"For further reference; we haven't informed you of your rights, so, not to worry, nothing you'll say here can be held against you in a trial."

She coughed out a shortbread bite while she exclaimed: "Did you just anti-Mirandized him?" She tried to give him a chance; maybe he wasn't _that_ much of an idiot. He failed to redeem himself in the five seconds she allowed him. Detective Beckett rose up and grabbed the doorknob tight like it was Stephen Malcolm's rookie neck.

"He wanted to know why we were transferring Richard Castle to Mount Sinai." Continued Josh with subsistent distrust. "He was furious, kept asking why I had signed the damn paper. I tried to explain to him; I never did. Truth is, Richard Castle, wasn't going anywhere." Josh pointed the transferring request presented to him in the evidence collection bag. "But it's not my signature in there."

Malcolm quickly took back the evidence bag containing the transfer authorization from Josh Davidson's sight. He tore a sheet of paper out of his notepad and said: "Can you sign this piece of paper so we can verify that with the lab?" Malcolm handed him a piece of paper to sign.

"Malcolm! A word." she shouted as the door bounced on the wall behind it.

"What the hell are you doing?" she threw the second he stepped out of the interrogation room. He barely had the time to close the door after him. He took a look around; no one listened.

He just shrugged for his defense. She uncrossed her arms and used them to amplify her claims: "'nothing you'll say can be held against you'? Are you out of your _freaking_ mind?!" With open hands, she pushed him brutally against the wall. She ignored his protests and talk over him "He can incriminate himself if he wants, that's his problem. He knows that! What the hell are they teaching you in the Academ—?"

"Beckett!"

Detective Roselyn Karpowski arrived, matching Becket's pissed expression. "Everything okay, here?"

Beckett let go of his jacket and he placed his hair back into place with his reflection in the window.

"Yeah, everything is fine. What's up?" said Beckett between two breaths.

Karpowski analyzed Malcolm's reaction; his head was lowered as he tried to hide a laugh.

"I came to give you this. It's been sitting by the fax for almost three hours now." She said tilting her head and landing a hand on her hips.

"What is it?" she asked lacking interest.

"I don't know, it was requested by Detective Esposito, Gates is out of office today, so — here." She placed the files in her hands.

"And you," she said pointing finger at Malcolm, "I don't like your face. I would kept it low profile, if I were you. With that attitude, you might find this precinct, rather … unwelcoming." She gave him a stern look, and then left before Beckett fuss. Beckett turned back to him.

"Go back in there and try to learn something useful!"

She went back to the observation room and instead of paying attention to Malcolm's poor performance on the other side of the one-way mirror; she was intrigued by the files still in her hands. Shortly, curiosity took its toll and she opened the file. It was sent from VICE. Esposito requested the files, four days ago for the Murdock case. She remembered Esposito saying it was to be delayed because of problems with the fax. The requested files was about twenty pages long and it was completely useless to either Castle's or Porter's case. She sighed at the thought of having to forward it to the FBI. She flicked the pages and a little yellow post-it caught her eye. She flipped the pages back; a post-it couldn't be faxed!

Three words were written on the sticky note, but they were enough for her to throw her off-balance. She kept staring at the note a few seconds after busting out the door to find the Detective who gave her the file.

"Karpowski? Who told you to give me that?" Beckett swung the files back under her nose.

"Nobody," answered Roselyn Karpowski with attitude. "It was sitting there and I was sick of looking at it, so I got rid of it. I read the reception note it said Esposito ordered it. I gave it to you. The end."

"D'you see anyone go through the pages?"

The post-it had to have been placed by someone in the building, in this bullpen. Someone that knew she would be getting the information one way or the other.

"Okay, listen. I may be the nearest to this machine, but I'm not responsible for it, okay? The whole floor is using it. You don't want anyone browsing your stuff; pick it up! I'm not your —"

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry." Beckett couldn't help but to flash her a smile.

"Is what I'm saying, funny?" said Karpawski, "I wasn't trying to be funny!"

It was unexpected, but Beckett couldn't help the feeling. A feeling she had been unable to express for the last few days. She apologized for the misunderstanding. "But if you remember anything suspicious, you let me know, A'right?"

Beckett walked away, leaving a quite confuse Roselyn Karpowski.

Kate Beckett went back to her office, took out an empty evidence bag from the lowest drawer and a pair of pliers from the top one. She took the post-it with the pliers and put it carefully in the evidence bag. Carefully, she then placed the evidence bag in her briefcase, away from anyone's sight. Beckett sat back in her chair and couldn't hide her excitement in her smile. From memory, she whispered the words from the little yellow square paper, just to hear how they sounded: 'He's alive.'

A beautiful 4PM light spanned the room; the storm had settled down for the last few hours and this ray had succeeded at making his way through the clouds. Her heart felt much lighter. She knew the felling wouldn't last, so she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Soon enough the sun set and the bullpen was lit again by the fluorescent lights and desk lamps.

She looked up and saw the infamous IA Detectives Yvonne Dent and Tony Lain step in the bullpen. With a discreet move of her foot, Beckett pushed her briefcase further under her office desk.

The interrogation over half an hour later, Malcolm let Davidson go. When her ex-boyfriend looked towards her, she did not raise an eyebrow from the paperwork she was doing. However, her attention was disrupted when Detective Dent excused herself for bumping into Davidson at the corner by — what had looked like, — inadvertence. Her partner, Tony Jaw, then looked at Josh, and then back at her with his best Cheshire cat smile.


End file.
